


Why Go Home

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Romance, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-10
Updated: 1999-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 47,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair once again goes undercover in a mental institution, this time to help a young woman falsely committed by her family. Jim discovers some things from Blair's past that make him frantic for his safety.<br/><b>Archivist note</b>: This story has been split into three parts for easier loading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story includes an attempted rape. It's inspired by the song "Why Go" by Pearl Jam from their album TEN, as well as the true stories of real people unjustly institutionalized for their sense of gender identity or their sexual orientations and the book GIRL INTERRUPTED by Susanna Kaysen. My deepest thanks to my beta readers--Rie, Tex and Shar.

 

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Why Go Home

by Annabelle Leigh

Author's webpage: <http://internetdump.com/users/fictionbythesea>

Author's disclaimer: The characters from The Sentinel do not belong to me. I'm only borrowing them for a little non-profit romance and adventure. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

she seems to be stronger  
but what they want her to be is weak  
she could just pretend  
she could play the game  
she could be another clone 

why go home? 

-Why Go, Pearl Jam 

Why Go Home? - part one  
by Annabelle Leigh 

It was like watching a train wreck or so it seemed to Blair. He realized this wasn't a very original analogy, but it did fit the situation. They had been in the interrogation room for what felt like hours. He was stiff all over, and his butt was seriously starting to go numb. The city really ought to be able to spring for better furniture than the uncomfortable metal fold-up chairs the PD had somehow been stuck with. He squirmed in his seat, hoping this would all be over soon, hoping there'd be a positive outcome. He watched the young girl they were questioning, Stacey Walters. He could practically feel the resistance emanating off her. He glanced over at his partner and saw the telltale twitching of his jaw. Blair sighed quietly to himself, knowing there wasn't a chance in hell that the questioning was going to proceed smoothly or conclude any time soon. 

"I asked you a question, Miss Walters. I'd appreciate an answer," Jim said, in his sternest voice. 

"Sorry," the girl murmured, scared but resolute. 

Blair shook his head. //Stacey does _not_ belong in police custody.// He would have had the same opinion of her even if she hadn't been a straight A student in his Anthro 101/102 class a couple of years back. But since she _was_ one of his past students, he felt especially protective of her. He clearly remembered her final paper, an earnest, impassioned look at the lives of the Kalahari bushwomen, a good, strong analysis, her feminist leanings clearly spelled out in the introduction, to be completely aboveboard with the reader. That was his overwhelming impression of her: honest, straightforward, sincere. She was among the last people he could imagine committing a crime. 

//And why would anyone break _in_ to a mental hospital. Out, I can understand. But in?// It made no sense, and Stacey Walters was nothing if not sensible. She wouldn't have done something like that without a reason, and maybe the explanation would help her out of some of the really hot water she was in. If only she would tell them, if only she would say _something_. 

But she wouldn't. She just sat there, looking like she wanted to cry. 

"Miss Walters, if you don't help us, there's no way we can help you," Jim told her. "Maybe you're not aware that breaking and entering is a felony. A conviction could carry serious prison time, and you'd have a record for the rest of your life. Every time you applied for a job or tried to get into graduate school, pretty much anything you wanted to do, you'd have to put it down, admit that you'd spent time behind bars, that you'd committed a serious crime. Is that really what you want?" 

Stacey just stared at him, petrified, as defenseless as any deer caught in headlights. Blair was pretty sure the girl had never had so much as a parking ticket or a bad grade, let alone been in trouble with the law. He watched her curl in upon herself a little more, although still determined not to answer their questions. 

"Miss Walters, I feel certain you have no idea what the prison system is like or you'd be a hell of a lot more eager to cooperate. I can promise you that the Washington Correctional Center for Women is not a nice place. People don't come out of there the same as they went in. If you tell us what we want to know, maybe we can get the charges reduced down to a misdemeanor. In that case, you'd probably get a fine and community service, maybe probation. We know you've never been in trouble before, so we'd like to help you. All you have to do is give us an explanation." 

The girl stared down at her hands, obviously scared, but stubbornly silent. Blair could see Jim beginning to lose his patience. 

The detective pulled out the chair next to Stacey, scraping it loudly against the linoleum floor, making the girl start. He sat down beside her and leaned in to say, "You look like a nice girl, so I'm going to tell it to you straight, for your own good. You don't want to go to prison. Between the other inmates who aren't going to like a young, white, financially well-to-do college girl and the male guards who think getting laid is a fringe benefit of the job whether the woman is willing or not, it's really not anywhere you want to end up. I don't know who you're trying to protect, but believe me, it's not worth going to prison. So do you want to tell me something that could help you or not?" 

The poor girl shrank back in her chair, her eyes wide with shock and fear. Now even if she had wanted to speak, Blair doubted she had the presence of mind to string together a sentence. He shook his head. Jim's tough guy routine could intimidate even hardened criminals. It was enough to completely incapacitate an innocent young kid like Stacey. 

"Jim? Could I talk to you outside a minute?" 

Jim gave him the look, the one that said he wasn't particularly happy about being interrupted, but he followed him out of the interrogation room just the same. 

"What is it, Sandburg?" he demanded. 

"I don't think this approach is working. You're scaring her to death." 

"Well, she ought to be scared. She's in some serious damned trouble here, Chief. The hospital wants to prosecute. " 

"Look, man, I know Stacey. She's a good kid. There's got to be some explanation here. She wouldn't just try to break into a mental hospital for kicks." 

"I'm sure you're right. I get the feeling she's covering for someone, but she needs to start thinking about herself. If she's such a good kid, then she needs to cooperate." 

"Why not let me try talking to her? We had a pretty good rapport when she was in my class. I really think I can reach her." 

Jim regarded him skeptically. 

"Really, man," Blair insisted. "I mean, threatening hard cases with the ugly realities of prison life may work, but it's just going to make Stacey too terrified to say _anything_." 

"Well..." Jim finally said, a little grudgingly. "I guess there's no harm in trying. Okay, Chief. Give it a shot." 

They went back into the room, only this time Blair sat down beside Stacey, while Jim leaned against the wall and watched. 

"Stacey, look, we know that if you broke into Larchmore, then you must have had some reason. You need to trust us. We're really looking for some way to make this come out better for you. So please help us, huh?" Blair said, making his voice as gentle and soothing as possible. 

He watched Stacey carefully, and he noticed when her eyes shifted slightly, stealing a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. //Yes! She wants to tell me. She just needs a little more convincing.// 

"I know you're scared," he said, reassuringly. "But I promise you don't need to be frightened of me. I'm a good listener. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'll really try to help." 

"That's what I was doing," she said, very softly. "Trying to help." 

Jim joined them at the conference table. "Trying to help? You mean, someone who's a patient at Larchmore?" 

The girl nodded. "My friend Jennifer. Her family had her put away, but there's nothing wrong with her. I swear." 

"How do you know that, Miss Walters? Are you a psychiatrist?" 

" _Nooooo!_ ," Stacey said, frustrated, obviously at the end of her rope. "But I don't have to be a mental health care worker to know this has nothing to do with Jennifer's well-being." 

Jim crossed his arms over his chest. "Why would her family take such drastic measures if they weren't honestly concerned for her safety and welfare, if it weren't absolutely necessary?" 

Stacey stared down at the table, stricken. 

Blair rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. "It's okay, Stacey. Whatever it is, you can trust us. We'll do our best to understand." 

Tears sprang to the girl's eyes, and her voice caught in her throat. "They put her in that horrible place because they can't accept that the heir to the Ross shipping fortune is a lesbian." 

Jim and Blair looked at each other, both surprised. 

"So you and Jennifer..." Blair ventured. 

Stacey nodded. "We were assigned as roommates our first year. We fell in love. We've been together ever since, three years now. At first, we tried to be very careful, really discreet. I mean, Jennifer's family is in the society column and stuff. We knew they'd be pissed if it got out about us. But after a while, we settled into our relationship, and I guess it just stopped being something we thought about. I mean, it was so natural for us to be together. Why would we hide it? But God, we should have. We should have been so much more careful than we were." 

Stacey trailed off, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. 

"Can you tell us what happened?" Blair asked, gently prompting her. 

"One night, these people just burst into the apartment, saying they had a commitment order for Jennifer. We tried to talk to them, ask them what the _hell_ they were talking about, but they wouldn't tell us anything. They just dragged her away, before I could even get to the phone to call 911\. They wouldn't even let her get dressed. When they took her away, she was still wearing her pajamas. That's the last time I saw her. When I went to the hospital, they wouldn't let me in. Apparently they don't allow visitors, at least not anyone who isn't family. And I was the last person they were ever going to let in." 

"Wasn't there--" Jim started to ask. 

"I tried to find a lawyer," she said. "But I don't have any money. Not that it would have mattered much anyway. Every time they heard who they'd be going up against, they bailed on me. The Rosses...they pretty much own this town. Nobody wants to cross them. My parents don't know about me and Jennifer. They're very strict, very Christian. So I couldn't go to them. I couldn't find anyone who would help me. That's when I decided to break in. I know it was wrong--and stupid. But I was really, really desperate. Jennifer doesn't belong in that place. God knows what they're doing to her in there." 

Blair looked over at his partner, and he could tell that Jim was as stunned as he was. He knew this kind of thing had taken place in the past, but he found it difficult to believe that it still went on. Stacey broke down in tears and sat sobbing into her hands, her back heaving, leaving him no doubt at all that she was telling the truth. He could tell by the expression on Jim's face that he also believed her. 

"I can't understand how her parents could do that just because..." Jim began to say. 

Stacey shook her head. "Not her parents. They died in a car accident five years ago. It's her uncle. He's the trustee of the estate, in control of Jennifer's inheritance. All he cares about is money and appearances. With Jennifer in a mental hospital, he has complete power over her trust fund and nobody to ask any questions. And the person he considers to be the family embarrassment is conveniently out of the way." 

"We'll look into your allegations, Miss Walters," Jim promised, his voice gentle now, filled with compassion. "We'll also see what we can do about talking the hospital out of pressing charges. Maybe we can persuade them it would be bad publicity for people to think their security measures were lax enough to allow a college student to break in." 

Stacey's face brightened a little. "Do you really think so? Oh, thank you, detective. Thank you so much. And you'll see what you can do for Jennifer?" 

Blair said, "We'll do everything we can. I promise." 

"I'd appreciate that so much. I know I should never have tried breaking in, but I couldn't think of anything else to do. It's just so wrong what they're doing. Loving someone of your own gender doesn't make you insane," Stacey said, a little tremulously. 

Jim nodded, very solemnly. "No, Miss Walters, it certainly doesn't." 

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Simon asked, leaning back in his chair, puffing on a cigar. "I mean, it sounds like something out of the dark ages, or at least the 1950s. I'm pretty sure we don't put people away in this day and age simply for being homosexual." 

Blair shifted in his seat. "It's not supposed to happen, but I've read enough articles to know there's a lot of abuse of the mental health care system. All it takes is a doctor's signature to have someone committed. _One_ doctor, man, and poof!...you're crazy. Well, you can see how easy it would be to have someone who's sane wrongly locked away, especially if the family has money, or there's a big fat insurance policy as an incentive. Doctors are as prone to temptation as anybody else." 

"What do you think, Jim?" Simon asked. 

"I have to agree with Sandburg. I guess it's possible that the girl is just wrong about it, but she definitely wasn't lying. From what she told us, she knows Jennifer Ross better than anyone else does. If she says there's nothing wrong with her, I'd tend to believe her." 

"So any thoughts on what to do about this? It's all supposition so far. We don't even have enough evidence for a search warrant." 

"We should get some evidence then," Blair said. 

"That's brilliant, Sandburg. How would you suggest we go about doing that?" Simon asked. 

"I could go in undercover as a patient again, like I did at Conover." 

"No way, Chief! Absolutely not," Jim protested. 

"I can do this," Blair said, with quiet determination. 

"That doesn't mean it's a good idea," Jim answered. 

"But--" 

Simon held up a hand. "Okay, guys. Look, Jim, Blair has a point here." 

"I do?" Blair asked, surprised by his captain's reaction. 

Simon sighed heavily, arched his eyebrows and gave him the "don't try my patience" look. 

"Sir--" Jim began to protest. 

"Blair's got experience in this kind of thing, Jim, and he looks young enough to fit in at Larchmore. We don't have anyone else available at the moment who fits the bill. Just as long as you're sure you're up for it, kid?" 

Blair swallowed hard, but he held Simon's gaze. "Yes, sir. I'm ready. I want to do this." 

"Simon, you can't..." Jim started to say. 

"Actually, I can, detective. If you're so concerned, then you can go in with Sandburg for the initial consultation, work your Sentinel magic, make sure everything seems okay before he goes in." 

"You want _me_ to have him committed?" 

Blair couldn't help smiling. "Hey, man, I would have thought this was just the opportunity you'd been waiting for." 

Jim shook his head. "Not funny, Chief. This is serious stuff here." 

"I know, man, and I'm _seriously_ ready, willing and able to do this." 

"I don't like it." 

"I never expected you would." 

Jim turned to Simon. "So what? I'm supposed to be his father or something?" 

"How about brother?" Simon suggested. 

"Make it half brother," Blair said. "That'll help explain away the difference in appearance. Yeah, and my parents died in a car accident a year or so ago. You're my only remaining relative, Jim. That's why you're the one having me committed." 

"You know, Sandburg, I should be used to your storytelling abilities by now, but somehow you still manage to surprise me," Simon said. 

Blair grinned. "Glad I can keep you on your toes." 

"So, Chief, do you really think you can pass for a minor?" Jim asked. 

"Probably not. But then, Jennifer's of age, so that doesn't really seem to stop them from institutionalizing people who don't need it. I should be able to pass for an undergrad pretty easily. Say twenty-two?" 

"Sounds good," Simon said, nodding approvingly. 

"What do we tell the doctors is wrong with you?" Jim asked. 

"I don't think we should be too obvious about it. They might not bite if you go in saying your brother needs hospitalization because he's gay. So what then...I'm depressed, not handling the parents' death too well. You're concerned about some of my lifestyle choices..." 

"I got it, Chief. I drop references about your experimenting with guys, and see if they go for it." 

"Yeah, man. I think it'll work." 

"I still don't like it." 

"I know, but I really can do this." 

"That's what you said about Conover." 

"Yeah, well, that was dealing with a crazed psychopath. This is just trying to get some evidence on greedy hospital administrators." 

"That's another thing. Since we're investigating the people in charge, you won't have anyone on your side in there. For all intents and purposes, you'll be a patient, as vulnerable as any of the rest of them. It'll be hard to contact us if anything goes wrong, and we're not going to be able to protect you. Think about what that really means, Chief. Are you sure you still want to do this?" 

Blair paused, thinking it over. "Yeah, man. I do." 

Jim looked skeptical, but he stopped protesting. 

"Sandburg, as Ellison points out, a cell phone or wire is out," Simon told him. "I'm sure they'll put you through a thorough search." 

"Oh, good," Blair said, making a face, understanding exactly what the captain meant by that. 

"If something happens, you're going to have to find a way to get to a phone. I know that's not much back up, but it's all we have. I'd prefer to try to get a trained officer in there posing as a staff member, but we don't want to waste any time with this on Miss Ross' account. Who knows how long it could take to get them to hire on one of our people." 

"I understand, Simon. You know me. I'm resourceful. If I get in a bind, I'll figure something out." 

"As I understand it, when someone's committed, they're initially held three days for observation," Simon said. "So that's how long you've got to find out what's going on in there. Don't go out on any limbs. Just watch and listen. No Rambo stuff. You got it?" 

"I got it. I'm eyes and ears. That's it. But three days isn't very long to find out anything. At the end of the three days, the doctors can decide to release a patient or keep them on for further evaluation. If they go for option two, I'd like to stay a little longer." 

"That's out of the question, Chief," Jim said. 

"Ellison, who's the captain here?" Simon asked, exasperated, and then turned to Blair. "Sandburg, that's out of the question." 

"Oh, come on, sir. If I'm just there to observe, what can it hurt to leave me in place two more days? It'll give me more time to find stuff we can use to get Jennifer Ross out of there." 

"We're there to find out the facts, Sandburg," Simon said. "We can't just presume that Ms. Ross is the victim of a crime here. You need to go in with an open mind." 

"Yes, sir. I understand," Blair said. 

"All right, Sandburg. You've got five days-- _if_ they continue to hold you after the observation period. And that's only if it's still safe, and nobody suspects you. Got it?" 

"Yes, sir," Blair said. 

"Ellison, if they do want to keep him past the three days, I want you to arrange a visit, check up on Blair, make sure everything's okay. Work out a sign between you. If there's _anything_ \--and I can't stress this enough, Sandburg-- _anything_ that doesn't seem right, that makes you nervous, you give Jim the signal. And Ellison, you flash the badge and get him out of there. Understood?" 

"Yes, sir," Blair said. 

"Understood," Jim said, still not sounding very happy. 

"So what's our high sign gonna be?" Blair asked. 

"Whatever you want." 

"I could wink at you or rub my nose." 

"Either one. Just pick." 

"Or I could cough three times." 

"Or you could just whisper something for my Sentinel hearing." 

"That's true. Okay, so if I don't rub my nose with my thumb or do that subliminal message thing, you'll know everything's okay, and I can stay the extra two days." 

"Okay, Sandburg, Ellison, that's the plan. First thing tomorrow morning, Blair starts getting the professional help we've always suspected he needed." 

"Funny, Simon," Blair said, rolling his eyes. 

Jim said nothing, his jaw set, not even remotely amused. 

* * *

Things were quiet and tense on the way home. 

Blair sighed. "So are we going to talk about it? Or are you just going to give me the silent treatment?" 

Jim kept his eyes on the road. "I didn't think you were all that interested in what I had to say." 

"Don't do that, Jim." 

"Who's the cop here, Blair?" he asked. "You're always telling me I need to listen to you on the Sentinel stuff. So why can't you listen to me on the cop stuff? I really don't think this is a good idea." 

"Why? Is it because you have no confidence in me or what?" 

"You know that's not it. I'm just remembering what happened the last time you went undercover in a place like that. It wasn't exactly a piece of cake, Chief. You got kind of spooked." 

"Because a psychopathic killer had my number and wanted me dead." 

"Are you sure that's all?" 

"Isn't that enough?" 

Jim watched his partner for a long moment. "It's just that I kind of got the idea going into that institution brought up some old stuff for you." 

"Yeah, well, I told you I spent a semester doing research at Conover when I was an undergrad, and I worked at another mental hospital after that to make a little extra money. You see stuff in places like that. Serious shit, man." 

"If you say so, Chief." 

Blair lost his temper. "Yeah, I say so. But if that's not good enough for you, check it out. I _did_ just work there. I know I'm kind of high strung, but I've managed not to crack up yet. If you need proof, I'm sure they still have my employment records at Hill Crest. Check it out for yourself. If you don't trust me." 

"Hold up there, Darwin. Who's talking about proof here? I said I believe you." 

"I'm glad to hear that," Blair said. "Because people who don't trust each other shouldn't be partners. Or friends, for that matter." 

"Your word is always good enough for me, Chief," Jim said softly. 

"Good," he said, not quite meeting Jim's eye, crossing his hands over his chest, turning to look out the window. 

Jim could hear his heart fluttering and smell the sharp scent of his anxiety. It was a cheap ploy, he knew that. But he'd needed confirmation from his senses of what his intuition screamed at him, and now he had it. Blair might not be telling an outright lie, but he wasn't telling the entire truth either. His Guide knew his abilities too well not to realize he would sense something, and he'd decided to keep whatever it was to himself anyway. That just wasn't like him, and tomorrow, Jim was sending him into an unprotected and potentially dangerous situation. He set his jaw and stared grimly out the windshield, turning that thought over in his mind, liking the plan less and less with each passing moment. 

* * *

Blair slouched low in his chair, a sullen expression plastered all over his face, perfectly mimicking the demeanor of a pissed off younger sibling. Jim couldn't help wishing his partner was a bit less adept at this little masquerade. It was making him feel like a shit, even though he knew he wasn't _really_ having Blair committed. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and clenched his jaw even harder, grinding his teeth. At this rate, he was going to need a fortune in dental repair. 

When he and Blair had arrived at the facility, he had filled out some papers and answered a few questions asked by the nurse at the main desk. Jim had given them the story they'd all agreed on, including the fake insurance information Simon had arranged for them, a policy with a generous allowance for inpatient psychiatric care. It had not been long before they'd been shown into the director's office for the mandatory evaluation. 

Dr. Thompson, the hospital's director, had seen Jim first, while Blair stayed out in the reception area. Jim had followed the agreed upon script, saying that Blair had seemed depressed and was having some trouble with school, also mentioning that he'd caught him having sex with another man. Then Blair had gone in by himself, and he'd been forced to wait outside. It would have driven him crazy if he hadn't enjoyed the advantage of Sentinel hearing. He'd listened in on the conversation, monitoring his partner's vitals all the while. Blair had been naturally nervous, but nothing to be too concerned about. Jim had also tuned in to the doctor and found nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to suggest that he didn't buy their story. That had been some comfort at least. 

Finally, the doctor had finished up the interview and called him back in. Now they were both waiting to hear whether the man had taken the bait or not. //Let him be an ethical professional, who's not just looking to make a buck. Let him say that there's nothing wrong with Blair, certainly no need for hospitalization. Just for once, let this all be a false alarm or some kind of misunderstanding.// A part of him felt guilty for hoping that Jennifer Ross really did have problems that required institutionalization. The rest of him cared only about taking his partner home with him. 

"Mr. Ellis, now that I've had a chance to examine Blair, I do have some qualms about his state of mind. I see a significantly depressed young man, trapped in his grief, acting out in some...shall we say...less than wholesome ways." 

"I _cannot_ believe this shit!" Blair cursed, looking very angry, an act worthy of an Academy award. 

"I'm afraid I do find cause to believe you may be a danger to yourself, Blair." 

"That's fucking bullshit, and you know it!" 

"Blair, the doctor's just trying to help," Jim said, trying to sound like an older brother attempting to mollify a kid brother. 

"Don't even speak to me, you asshole. I _cannot_ believe you'd do this to me. What? You after my share of the inheritance?" Blair asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

"You know this isn't about money," Jim said, gently. 

"No, it's about my not being the kind of man you think I ought to be. And you can just fucking go to hell." 

"I'm concerned about you, about your future," Jim offered, sounding lame even to himself. He and Steven had been estranged so long that he'd missed all these brotherly moments. He had no real clue what to do. 

"You just don't want people talking about how one of the Ellis boys is a _faggot_." 

"You're wrong. I care about you. I don't want anything bad to happen to you," Jim insisted and then turned back to the doctor. "So what do we do now?" 

"I'm going to sign a temporary order of commitment. That gives us the legal right to hold him for three days, pending further evaluation." 

"Jim, don't do this to me," Blair begged, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. 

Jim's gut wrenched. //It's all an act. It's all an act. It's all an act.// He tried to remind himself of that, but the sight of unshed tears shimmering in his partner's eyes made him feel all twisted up inside. He'd always been extraordinarily susceptible to Blair, and now was no exception. 

"I have to. I'm sorry," he whispered to him. 

Blair's expression turned to fury. "Well, _fuck_ you! I will _not_ be forgetting this anytime soon, man. Count on it." 

"Blair, Blair," the doctor said, in a modulated, professional voice, trying to calm him down. "I'm sure you don't really mean to threaten your brother. But this does point out why you need to spend some time with us here at Larchmore. Things have really gotten to be too much for you, haven't they, Blair? Wouldn't it feel good to get rid of some of that anger, some of that pain?" 

Blair's face turned red with fury. Jim couldn't help wondering what was running through his mind, how he could generate such a realistic display of emotions. //I mean, I know he _obfuscates_ on occasion, but I never realized he was such a good actor. Why does this worry me so much?// 

"I'm telling you, man. Don't leave me in this snake pit," Blair said to him. 

"I'm sorry," Jim offered, hoping Blair would understand that he really couldn't stand deserting him there. 

Dr. Thompson picked up the phone and punched in an extension number. "Ralph? Could you come to my office? We have a new patient to be admitted for evaluation. Thanks." He hung up the phone. "One of our orderlies is on his way to take Blair for admission." 

Blair became very agitated and leaped up from his chair, beginning to pace. "No, no, no," he chanted, sounding truly desperate. "Jim, please, _please_." 

Jim's hands shook. He eyed his friend helplessly. 

"Blair, it's not up to Jim," Dr. Thompson told him. "I'm the one who thinks you need to be here. If you need to blame someone, then blame me." 

"But why?" Blair asked, his voice shaking with fear and upset. 

"I'd be acting extremely negligently if I didn't at least check you out a little more thoroughly. I have a professional responsibility here." 

Blair trembled from head to toe, wild-eyed with terror. Jim could see every tremor that ran through his body. Blair had really worked himself into a panic, and Jim wasn't at all sure it was part of the act. He balanced for a moment on the fine edge of calling the whole thing off, flashing his badge, apologizing, beating a hasty retreat. 

//It doesn't make you insane to love someone of your own gender.// Stacey Walter's words echoed in his head, her voice filled with despair. It was the only thing that kept him from taking his partner by the arm and dragging him the hell out of there. 

The orderly, dressed in medical white, appeared at the door. Jim eyed him warily. He was a big guy, not especially tall, but sturdy, muscular, like he worked out regularly, exuding that particular sort of physicality that came from being a gym rat. This was the person who would hold his friend's safety and well-being in his hands. Jim instantly disliked him, although he knew he had no grounds for his reaction. He realized he was being more than a little irrational. He just really didn't want to be doing this. 

"Blair, this is Ralph, one of our attendants. He's going to take you down the hall to another office, so you can be processed and then admitted." 

Blair shook his head wildly. "No!" 

Ralph took a step toward him, and Blair retreated into the far corner of the room, trying to hold onto the wall so Ralph couldn't take him, sinking down to the floor, becoming a dead weight. 

"Come on now, Blair," Ralph said. "The doc here's just trying to help you. I promise nobody's going to hurt you. I'm just going to walk with you down to the admissions office. Nothing bad will happen." 

"Jim!" Blair screamed, sounding frantic and terrified. 

"Everything's going to be all right, Blair," the doctor said, soothingly. 

"Help me, Jim! Please! Oh God, please don't let them do this to me. I don't want to stay here, Jim. Please. I'll do whatever you want, but please don't let them keep me." 

Tears trickled down his friend's cheeks, and those bright blue eyes pleaded with him. //God damn fucking hell! Why does he have to be _so_ good at this.// 

"I have to let them, Blair. I'm sorry. I really am." 

Blair started to cry in earnest, shaking his head frantically. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no..." he chanted over and again. 

"Come on now, Blair," Ralph said, taking him by both wrists, pulling him to his feet, even as Blair resisted. 

Jim's sensitive eyes could see bruises forming on Blair's arms, invisible to anyone else, so minute even Blair would never see or feel them. 

"Don't hurt him!" he screamed at the orderly, out of his chair and taking a step toward them before he could even stop to think, instantly protective of Blair. 

"I'm really trying not to, Mr. Ellis. But I do need to get him down the hall, and as you can see, he's not exactly cooperating." 

"Mr. Ellis, I really think it would be better if you left now. We'll take care of Blair. My secretary will call you to arrange a time when we can meet to go over the results of the evaluation period." 

"Three days, right?" 

"That's right." 

"And I'll be able to take him home then?" 

"That's certainly a possibility. It all depends on what we find." 

"I want to be kept informed. I mean, I want to know absolutely _everything_." 

"My secretary will call you. I promise. But for now, Mr. Ellis, let us do our job. For Blair's sake. Please." 

Jim hesitated. Blair had pulled away from the orderly and sat huddled once more in the corner, sobbing, calling his name in a steady stream, begging him for help. 

"I know it looks bad," Dr. Thompson said to him quietly. "But I promise it will only get better from here. And he will be so much healthier when he leaves us. You're doing the right thing. I promise you." 

"Well, I guess..." 

"I'll see you in three days, Mr. Ellis." 

Jim was still not convinced, and he knew his face showed it. But he forced himself to say, "Blair, I'll see you soon. Take care, okay, buddy?" 

"JIM!" 

"Bye, Blair," he said and hurried out of Dr. Thompson's office. 

"Jim, don't leave me!" He heard Blair screaming as he headed down the long hall. 

"JIM! JIM!" He could still hear his partner's loud, desperate wailing as he passed the nurse at the front desk. 

//It's just an act. It's just an act. It's just an act.// He tried to reassure himself. 

"JIM! Come back! Come back!" His Sentinel hearing picked up Blair's pitiful cries even outside the building. 

He got into the truck and started the engine. 

"Don't leave me here, Jim. Oh God, please, don't leave me." 

He had tears in his eyes as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the station to give Simon his report. 

* * *

Dr. Christine Hannigan reviewed the file on Blair Ellis, a growing wrinkle forming between her eyes. It just didn't add up, not to hospitalization at least, not in her opinion. The boy showed signs of anger and depression, but his parents had been tragically killed at the hands of a drunk driver only a little more than a year ago. Grief often caused people to do bizarre things, to act out of character. It could be difficult, troubling, but sadness was not mental illnesses. It was a natural, if painful, part of human life. 

The only way she could picture Blair Ellis needing a psychiatric intervention was if his grief had mutated into a suicidal impulse. His very anger suggested that this wasn't the case. People were often terrified of anger, thought of it as dangerous and destructive, but it could actually be a remarkably healthy response depending upon the circumstances. It was unutterable sadness, depression, despair that led people to take their own lives, not the kind of justified anger that Blair Ellis seemed to feel. She saw no indication that his anger was disordered, that he was particularly vengeful, no sign that he might be a danger to others. 

For the life of her, Christine couldn't figure out why Dr. Thompson had ordered a three-day commitment for the boy. Sometimes, she had the sinking feeling that things were not exactly as they should be at Larchmore. It was nothing especially blatant, just a patient here or there whose diagnosis she couldn't fathom, never any more than a shadowy doubt, a vague suspicion that the patients weren't getting all the care they needed and deserved. 

She hadn't spoken up about it yet. She had only just finished her residency at Cascade Memorial, and this was her first staff position. Dr. Thompson enjoyed a national reputation, and honestly, she often found him a little intimidating. He had a way of speaking to her, slowly and distinctly, as if she were a young child or cognitively impaired, that made her question her ability to do the job. Every time she noticed some inconsistency in the care at Larchmore she would end up persuading herself that Dr. Thompson's understanding simply exceeded her own. But still, a nagging voice inside her continued to question, refused to let her completely buy into her own rationalizations. 

It was this voice that prompted her to take Blair Ellis' file into Dr. Thompson's office to discuss the case with him and hopefully to have the boy released. 

She knocked at the director's door. "Dr. Thompson? Do you have a minute?" 

"Christine, of course. Please come in," he said, motioning her to one of the chairs facing his desk. 

She sat down and opened the file, sliding it across the desk to him. "I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Thompson, but I just have some questions about this patient, Blair Ellis. I was a little confused about why a three-day evaluation would be ordered. In my opinion, the patient appears to be experiencing a normal reaction to a significant loss, the death of his parents. I couldn't find any evidence to suggest that he's a danger to himself or others. I really do have serious hesitations about whether he belongs here. It seems to me that he'd be better served by grief counseling or a support group, even individual therapy, but definitely as an outpatient." 

Dr. Thompson took the file and leaned back in his chair, perusing it, along with the notes Christine had made. "Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm," he murmured as he flipped pages, reviewing the material. 

Christine shifted uncomfortably in her chair. //I'm a trained psychiatrist. I know what I'm doing. I have a valid point here, and I owe it to this patient to voice my doubts.// Still, she couldn't quite help feeling like a lowly student, waiting for her professor to tell her whether she'd passed or failed. 

"Well, I can definitely see why you're confused," he finally said. 

She instantly brightened. "Oh...well, great. I'm glad I brought it to your attention then. Should we contact Mr. Ellis' brother and have him come pick the boy up." 

Dr. Thompson stared off into the distance, considering. "No," he said. "I really struggled over this one, Christine. I realize there's not necessarily a case on paper for keeping...what's his name again?...ah yes, Blair, for keeping him. I just have this gut feeling. Call it the benefit of thirty years experience. I really believe we need to dig a little deeper on this one. After all, we do have a professional responsibility, and it's always better to err on the side of caution. Let's keep him for the three days, and then if we find there really isn't any cause for concern, we'll release him, no harm done." 

Christine flushed sharply. She'd misunderstood him completely. For a moment, she really had thought he was going to agree with her. //Well, he does have a lot more experience than I do, and he's right that we have to make every effort to protect the patient. But...// A part of her just wasn't satisfied. 

"Dr. Thompson, I really think..." she began to say, in her firmest voice. 

"Trust me on this one, please, Christine. Humor me. I already explained to the elder Mr. Ellis that his brother's homosexual behavior is not an indication of mental illness. If we find nothing else wrong, I'll call him in three days' time to come pick him up." 

"Homosexual behavior..." 

The doctor nodded. "I didn't include that in the file, not really appropriate." 

"No, of course not," Christine agreed. 

It shouldn't matter. She knew it shouldn't matter. Dr. Thompson was right. The official word from the hallowed halls of psychiatry was that homosexuality wasn't a mental disease or defect. Her logical mind calmly informed her that Blair Ellis' sexual orientation should have no bearing on her professional opinion about his need for treatment. She had come in here to fight for him, and fight for him she should. 

But some other part of her...emotions, religious sensibility, a deeply held value system, something...quietly whispered that here was another opportunity to turn around a young person's life, to help this boy choose a more acceptable, a more salutary lifestyle, just as she'd tried to help so many others. 

The two viewpoints balanced her on the fine edge of indecision for a brief moment, before the weighty pull of gut reaction toppled over her carefully schooled objectivity. 

"Perhaps an evaluation is in order after all," she conceded. 

Dr. Thompson smiled at her encouragingly, still as if she were a student, but a favorite student, who'd just given the prize-winning answer. 

"After all, as you said, we do have a professional responsibility to look out for the patient's safety and welfare," she added. 

"Then we're agreed. I'm glad you brought this matter to my attention, Christine. That's the kind of vigilance we always owe the people under our care." 

She blushed, pleased with the compliment. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take on Mr. Ellis for his individual therapy. I feel a special interest in the case." 

"Of course," the director said. "He'll be lucky to have you on his side." 

"Thank you, Dr. Thompson," she said and headed back to her office. 

As she sat down at her own desk again, sifting through Blair Ellis' file once more, planning her strategy for his therapy, she felt mostly pleased with how things had turned out and ambitious for how she could improve his life. It was only in the very dim recesses of her mind, the farthest corners of her awareness, that she had the uneasy sense that she'd just been royally duped. 

* * *

No one ever seemed to speak, and it freaked Blair out, more than the lock on the door to the ward, more than the orderlies in their white uniforms patrolling the halls and common areas, even more than the sedative they had injected him with last night, apparently standard procedure for a patient's first night in the hospital. More than any of these things, as disquieting as they were, it was the unnatural quiet that disturbed him the most. The kids were all like faded ghosts, trailing dispiritedly from the cafeteria to the day room to their group therapy sessions, some drugged, the rest simply drained of life and animation. Even during the recreation periods, they watched television, stared out the window, with hardly a word, as if there simply were nothing to say in such a place, no words to express their desolation. 

Blair sat alone at one of the cafeteria tables, picking at his lunch half-heartedly, trying to make himself eat the pale, unappetizing mess on his plate. Leaving the food untouched wasn't an option, he knew that from experience. As a new patient, he would be especially closely monitored, the staff on the lookout for suicidal impulses, rebellion, any sort of deviant behavior. Not eating would certainly qualify. These places were all the same. Docility and compliance were the measures of mental health. Everything the patients did was watched and evaluated in those terms, rewards and punishment meted out depending on how well the rules were followed. 

Larchmore's complicated code of conduct made Jim's house rules seem free and easy in comparison. Here someone else dictated every last detail of his day. There was a specific time to get up and go to bed, to have meals, to shower, to socialize or what passed for it. What he _felt_ like doing at any given moment meant nothing. He had no control over his life or his body; he was allowed to make no decisions for himself. If he had a headache, he could have an aspirin only if a doctor prescribed it. If he wanted to watch something else on television, he had to see if an orderly would change the channel for him. Hell, he had to ask permission to go to the bathroom. It wasn't exactly the life Naomi Sandburg's son had been designed for. 

Blair struggled through his meal, keeping his eyes down, concentrating on the tray in front of him. He'd been so vehement about wanting to do this, pushing aside all Jim's protests and concerns, even his warning about not having backup. From the moment Stacey Walters told them about Jennifer Ross, he'd had the idea to go undercover, so determined to do this, to get the evidence they'd need, to help the girl, to make those people pay, the ones who'd wrongly committed her. But now that he was here, he couldn't pretend he wasn't scared. Mental patients had absolutely no power and few rights, completely at the mercy of the doctors and attendants who cared for them. Anything could happen to him here, and there would be no one to help him, not even his Blessed Protector. He'd never felt more alone. 

Blair took a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes, trying to center himself. //It's not going to help anything to get freaked out. It's only five days, at the most. Only three, if they suddenly turn decent and let me go after the evaluation period. I can do this. Just get the evidence and get out. No problem.// He tried to look on the positive side. It wasn't Conover, and there was no Chappel. As mental institutions went, Larchmore was fairly decent, relatively new, not really scary. With all the young people, it struck him a little bit like a suburban high school, tiled floors and beige walls, the big cafeteria with all the tables, the long corridors with row after row of doors. The difference, of course, was the atmosphere, the feeling in the air, not the lighthearted, rollicking energy of school kids, but a jagged, desperate quality that set Blair on edge, that made him wish he were anywhere else. 

He finally finished his lunch and took his tray back to the cafeteria lady, just the way he was supposed to. He smiled at the matronly woman, but she didn't respond. She just took the tray without so much as a glance in his direction. //In a place like this, you really are invisible.// 

He sat back down at the table. As a new patient, he wasn't allowed to go anywhere without an orderly, and his appointment with his individual therapist wasn't for another half an hour. He'd have to wait until they came to get him. He just hoped it would be someone other than that guy Ralph. He'd spent all day yesterday being led around by him, and he hadn't remotely appreciated the way the creep kept looking him over. It had given him the heebie-jeebies in a _serious_ way. 

Blair looked around the room, checking out his fellow inmates. There seemed to be about an equal number of boys and girls, most of them in their mid to late teens. Many sat alone, although there were also pairs and small groups here and there, talking quietly. None of the kids seemed especially out of it; most seemed more sad than crazy. Of course, the most troubled patients were kept locked in solitary rooms, constantly medicated, strapped down if necessary. Anyone allowed to take their meals in the cafeteria was pretty high functioning. Still, Blair couldn't help wondering how many really needed psychiatric care and how many more were simply being warehoused because their families couldn't deal with them for one reason or another. 

It took a while before Blair recognized Jennifer. She looked so different than in the picture Stacey had given them. The two months at Larchmore had apparently taken their toll. He was sad to see that the youthful bloom, so evident in the photograph, was gone. Instead, she was pale and a little drawn, as if she hadn't been sleeping. Blair also thought she'd lost weight. //Well, who can blame her? A healthy, sane person trapped in a place like this.// She sat with a boy who looked like he was several years younger than she, and the two of them talked back and forth. The boy was slightly built and had a warm, pleasant face, with large, almost black eyes and light brown skin. Occasionally, he smiled, one of the few smiles Blair had seen so far, and it lit up his whole face. //At least someone seems to be surviving this relatively intact.// 

Blair hadn't meant to stare, but Jennifer caught his eye. She smiled, a little tentatively, and he smiled back at her. He watched her bend closer to the boy and whisper something to him, and then the boy also looked in his direction. After a little whispering back and forth, they both got up and crossed the room to where he was sitting. 

"Hey," Blair said. 

"Hey. So you're the new kid, huh?," Jennifer asked. 

Blair nodded. "Got here last night," he told them. "I'm Blair." 

"Jennifer," she said. "This is Ritchie." 

"Nice to meet ya," Ritchie said, taking a seat across from him, while Jennifer sat down beside him. 

"So we were discussing it, and we're guessin' you got on the wrong side of the gender patrol," Ritchie said. 

"Excuse me?" 

Jennifer smiled. "Ritchie sometimes has a colorful way of putting things. What he's trying to say is that we're guessing you're here because you're gay." 

"Yeah," Ritchie chimed in. "You got it together too much to actually be a head case. You look too clean for drugs, and somehow you just don't strike me as a discipline problem. That pretty much leaves the gay thing." 

Blair nodded, twisting his face into a bitter expression. "My brother thinks I need help, so I'll make better life choices. Asshole. Like his uptight, soulless excuse for a life is something to be proud of." 

Jennifer covered his hand with hers, very briefly. "I'm sorry. I know how tough it is. We're here for the same reason, Ritchie and me. Actually, a lot of the kids are. But be careful. Don't let anyone on staff hear you talk like that. They'll use it against you. Believe me." 

"That's why we dropped by," Ritchie explained. "Princess and I like to get with the new recruits and give 'em the lay of the land. You know, keep them from getting into too much trouble right off the bat." 

"We have to make it quick though. It makes them nervous for us to spend too much time with the new kids. In a day or two we should be okay to hang out," Jennifer said, keeping her eye on the orderly who was monitoring the room. 

"So keep a low profile until then, Curly. Do whatever they tell you." 

"But never volunteer information," Jennifer said. "Who do you have for individual?" 

"Dr. Hannigan." 

"Oh, that's not so bad," she said. "She's a complete 'phobe, but she does have basically good intentions. She's just a little misguided about how to help. Still, don't trust her, just try to look like you're cooperating. It's a big old mindfuck otherwise, and you'll start believing all that bullshit about homosexuality being some kind of disease." 

"Hang on to your soul, Curly. That's the name of the game in here," Ritchie added. 

Blair nodded. "Thanks for the advice." 

"Our pleasure. Now let's go, Princess, before Nurse Ratchett over there gets his panties in a twist," Ritchie said, nodding his head in the direction of Ralph the orderly. 

"We'll see you later, Blair, when the coast is clear," Jennifer said. 

"Oh, and try to act butch, Curly. They like that around here," Ritchie said, winking at him in a decidedly unbutch way, before putting the mask back on, resuming his faux macho demeanor. 

It was the first time Blair had smiled since he'd arrived at Larchmore. 

* * *

Half an hour later, Blair sat across from Dr. Hannigan, nervously twisting his hands in his T-shirt. It wasn't part of the act. Even though he'd been in and out of therapy since he was in diapers, it had never really stopped being an anxiety-producing experience. Somehow, it didn't help calm him that this session with Dr. Hannigan wasn't really about him--but about Blair Ellis--a fictional character. He was still the one sitting in the chair across from the doctor. He was still the one who had to answer the questions. 

Dr. Hannigan had a young face, round cheeks, dark eyes and hair, an Irish sort of look. It surprised Blair that she was even old enough to be a psychiatrist. Blair guessed she must either still be in residency or this was her first position on staff. 

She smiled at him, obviously trying to create a friendly, non-threatening environment. "So, Blair, it's nice to meet you." 

"Yeah, sure. Nice to meet you too," he said, with more than a hint of sullen sarcasm, trying to imitate the attitude his students took when they came to his office to bitch about their grades. 

She looked at him mildly. "I get the feeling you'd rather be anywhere else than here." 

"Isn't that how you'd feel if you were in my shoes?" 

She nodded. "Perhaps, although I'd like to think that I'd recognize I needed help, that I'd really want to get better." 

Blair sneered. "You only just met me. How do you know there's anything wrong with me? What? Just because my brother says so?" 

"You have to admit that you seem to have made some poor choices lately, Blair." 

"Says you." 

"Says society as a whole. You've been skipping classes. Your grades have dropped. That's usually a sign that someone's troubled by something." 

"My _parents_ died. Yeah, that _troubles_ me. The two people I loved most in the world got wiped out in one lousy moment because some asshole didn't know when to stop drinking and couldn't be bothered to call a cab instead of trying to drive home. Don't you think I have every right to be troubled by that?" 

"Of course, but you sound so angry, Blair, so alienated." 

"You're damned right I'm angry. That bastard _murdered_ my parents. If you ask me, there would be something wrong with me if I _wasn't_ pissed off." 

"Anger is a part of grief. That's true. But sometimes grief can be so all-consuming that we let it destroy _our_ life too. It's as if we're trying to follow after the people we lost. That's when it's time to get help." 

"Don't bullshit me, Doctor. I know why I'm really here. Jim caught me making out with another guy, and he freaked all over the place. Two days later I'm sitting in Dr. Thompson's office, and he's signing the papers to have me committed. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out." 

"Your brother was concerned that you were engaging in behavior that could profoundly change the rest of your life and not for the better." 

"Half brother!" Blair corrected, vehemently. 

"From your tone, I take it you're not that close then? Tell me what that's like." 

"It sucks. Jim's the only damned family I have left, and he doesn't approve of me. He does _this_ to me, dumps me in this place, so he won't have to be bothered about my _choices_. That fucking bites." 

"But you have so much anger towards Jim. Was there always a rivalry there? Were you envious of the attention your parents paid him as the elder son?" 

"No, lady, I'm pissed off that he abandoned me, that he had me locked up in a mental institution because he doesn't like who I'm sleeping with. Try to keep up. I've been saying the same thing for the last ten minutes." 

"Blair, problems like these don't just crop up overnight. They're the culmination of years of experiences. I'm trying to get insight into your family, to understand the dynamics of all the players. That'll help us understand some of the roots of your current difficulties." 

"What? Do you think Jim sexually abused me? Or maybe it was Dad? Or Mom, for that matter. Right? Because something bad must have happened to turn me into a faggot. That's what you're thinking, isn't it? As far as you're concerned, there's no way I could just have been born this way, that it could be who I am, who I was _meant_ to be, that it could be perfectly normal. You're just another bigot who hates gays." 

She shook her head and spoke very gently, "I don't hate people for their homosexual behavior, but you're right that I don't think it's a particularly good life choice or a natural state of being. I know there's been some talk about homosexuality as a function of genetics, but much of that research has been disputed and even disproved. From my experience, it's almost always a choice on the person's part, perhaps not consciously, but a choice nonetheless, which means that the person is free to make a different, healthier, more socially acceptable choice in its place. I think that's something we should explore together." 

"Homosexuality's no longer recognized as a mental illness in the DSM," Blair said. 

The doctor looked at him with surprise 

"I'm planning to minor in psychology," he said, to explain how he knew about the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the bible of the psychiatric profession. 

"Well, Blair, then perhaps you've already learned that sometimes a circumstance in someone's life, while not a form of illness in and of itself, may be a symptom of larger, underlying problems that are being masked by the behavior." 

"And what does being gay mask?" 

"A sense of masochism, perhaps. Poor self-image. Depression. A person who's acting out through homosexuality doesn't think very highly of himself. Otherwise, why would he embrace a lifestyle that can be so dangerous and is so universally despised by society?" 

Blair tried to remember why he was there. He tried to hold onto the intention of winning over Dr. Hannigan as an ally. He tried to remember to sound like a twenty-two year old college student. But it was very hard to manage. 

"First, not everyone is so narrow-minded that they categorically condemn all gays," he argued. "And second, it's not about a lifestyle. It's not about acting out. It's not about low self-esteem. It's about a person, and it's about love. I'm here because the one person I love above all others just happens to be another guy." 

"Blair--" 

"Wait. Let me finish. You're married, right?" he asked, looking down at her hand, at the wedding ring. 

"Yes." 

"What if someone told you that loving your husband was wrong? What if they wanted to keep you from being with the one person in the world who made you feel safe and desired and cherished?" 

"We're not here to talk about me, Blair. We're here to understand what's troubling you." 

This time Blair couldn't help losing his patience. "Well, right now _you're_ troubling me. I don't understand how such a well-meaning, intelligent, apparently kind-hearted person can be so blind." 

"I'm just trying to help you, Blair." 

"Well, then get me out of here. I haven't done anything to even remotely suggest I'm a danger to myself or others. I'm not into drinking or doing drugs. I'm not depressed. I'm not acting out. I'm just in love with another man. That doesn't make me crazy or a criminal. I don't deserve to be locked up for it." 

For a moment, he thought he might have swayed her, and maybe then, he could find out what she knew, use that information to bring an end to the injustices going on in this place. But it was only a momentary hesitation, the briefest shadow of doubt, before she put her detached, professional face firmly back in place. 

"Resistance to therapy is normal in the beginning," she said, falling back into psychiatric jargon. "We need to work on establishing a sense of safety for you and some trust between the two of us. Then I hope you'll be able to open up to me and really tell me what's going on with you." 

Blair just rolled his eyes. He could really begin to see why kids got so frustrated with adults. Some grownups were simply maddening-- disappointing too. He'd really thought Dr. Hannigan was a possible ally, someone who might help him gather the evidence he needed. But apparently, she wasn't going to be able to see past her own prejudices, and that _did_ depress him. 

* * *

It was only the second night with Blair at Larchmore, and Jim couldn't believe how silent and empty the loft felt, almost as if his roommate were gone for good. That thought set off waves of panic that he'd been trying to calm all evening. He'd told himself over and over again how stupid it was, how silly he was being. He'd tried to shake it off. Of course, Blair was coming back, and it wasn't like he'd never been gone before. Hell, Blair was always on the go, in and out, somewhere, all the time. There were all those weekend afternoons when he went to the library to work on his dissertation, long hours he spent grading papers in his office, all the many nights he slept elsewhere, in some woman's bed, someone Jim would most likely never meet. 

Blair had even been out of town for five weeks last summer doing field work in Guatemala, and Jim had been fine. Okay, so maybe it had been a little quiet. Maybe he'd missed the kid. Maybe he'd been happier than he could ever have admitted when Blair stepped off that plane at the Cascade airport. Still, he hadn't been unnerved like this. He hadn't felt the need to pace around the apartment like a caged animal. 

//It's just because of what happened at Conover. He was terrified when I came to get him. I'm just remembering that, and it's setting off all these damned Blessed Protector instincts of mine.// 

Jim wandered into the kitchen, a little aimlessly, still not especially hungry. But he needed something to do, so he opened the refrigerator, searching its shelves for something to eat. He found the lentil soup Blair had made a few days ago, took it out, heated it up. It tasted even better leftover, just the way Blair had said it would. 

//Sandburg really is a genius.// That thought stopped him short for a moment. He suddenly regretted all the times he'd complained about Blair's trying to make him eat a healthier diet. There were so many silly things he hassled his friend about. He made a mental note to cut the kid more slack, to show him more often how grateful he was for all he did. 

//Geez, Ellison, you sound like he's on his deathbed. He's just undercover, and this time, it's not at some hardcore place like Conover with somebody as dangerous as Chappel running around on the loose. It's a suburban psychiatric hospital with high-priced doctors and an upscale teenage clientele. He's going to be just fine and back home before you know it.// 

Still, Jim couldn't help flashing back to that night at Conover, the way Blair had raced around that corner and into his arms, his heart pounding, the sweat pouring off him, his face pale with terror. Jim could still remember the exact expression on his face when he'd looked up and realized it was Jim who'd caught him, the utter relief, the perfect trust. He could still conjure up the way Blair felt in his arms, his body trembling, nervous hands grabbing fistfuls of Jim's leather jacket in his panic. He could still hear the desperation in his partner's voice as he begged him to get him out of there. Worst of all, he remembered finding the bruises on Blair's throat, invisible to any but Sentinel eyes, but there just the same, the evidence of Chappel's hand, grabbing his partner, squeezing, intending to kill him. 

Leaving Blair at Larchmore was one of the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. All his instincts were on fire about whatever it was that Blair was hiding from him. It made him realize how much he'd taken for granted that he knew everything there was to know about him. Hell, they'd _lived_ together for three years, shared all the everyday things that bred intimacy between people. He _should_ know everything about him by now. It bugged him that there might be things Blair had kept back, big things, important things, things that Jim was now desperate to find out. 

Then there was that parting look Blair had given him back at the hospital. That really got under his skin. In his reasonable mind, he knew it had all been part of the act, Blair in character, putting on a convincing show for Dr. Thompson. But there was another voice inside him, the voice of guilt, that was convinced Blair really did feel that way, like he was being abandoned. Hell, that's how it had felt to _Jim_ , like he was deserting his partner in that god-awful hell hole. 

//It's no more than five days. Blair knows how to handle himself. He'll be fine. Whatever he's not telling me, maybe it really is something he saw at Conover or that other hospital where he worked. A lot of shit _does_ go down in those places. He has so much compassion for people that of course it would bother him, and maybe it would be hard for him to talk about it. Maybe he was afraid I'd think he was too soft or some bullshit like that.// 

Still, something nagged at Jim. He just couldn't shake it. During the Chappel case, Blair had spoken only of his previous experience at Conover. He'd never mentioned working at another psychiatric hospital. If it were anybody else, he wouldn't have given it a second thought, but this was Blair, never one to leave out details. He felt certain there must be something significant about the omission. 

Jim half-heartedly finished his dinner and left the dishes soaking in the sink, something that usually drove him up the wall. But he was jumpy and not in the mood for cleaning. He promised himself that he'd do the dishes in the morning and promptly went back to his pacing. 

//Why didn't he talk about this before? What happened at Hill Crest? Is that what he doesn't want me to know?// 

For a moment, he considered trying to track down Naomi to ask her about it, but just as quickly, he realized how fruitless it would be. The odds of actually finding her weren't very good, and there was even less of a likelihood she would know what had been going on in her son's life back then. No, he wouldn't find out what he wanted to know by asking Blair's mother; he'd just have to do it the old-fashioned way. 

//I know it's not exactly respecting his privacy or trusting him, but I've got to know. I'll go insane if I don't. If there's something personal making him volunteer for this assignment, I need to know what it is. So I can get him the hell out of there before he gets into serious trouble.// 

If Jim had not been an ex-military man, if he had not spent years learning how to compartmentalize, to focus on the goal at hand at the expense of all other considerations, he would have felt guilty for what he was planning. A distant corner of his mind registered that he would have to deal with the fallout of his decision eventually. Of course, he would admit to Blair what he'd done, his own sense of honor demanded it. He had no doubt his partner would be pissed. Of course, there would be consequences, perhaps even serious ramifications, depending upon how violated Blair felt, how badly his trust in Jim was damaged. 

As little as he liked to think of those possibilities, his instincts shrieked at him to take action, convinced that Blair was in danger. He'd already tried to bring Simon over to his side, but his captain hadn't listened. He'd have to change his mind, and to do that, he'd need more information. He'd have to uncover whatever it was Blair was hiding. In the end, he would do anything to keep Blair safe, no matter how questionable or unethical. He'd even risk losing him if that's what it took, even though that was the most painful thing he could imagine. He couldn't let how he felt, what he feared, get in the way. It had to be about protecting Blair. 

For the first time that evening, Jim felt some measure of peace, now that he'd decided to _do_ something about the situation. He locked up, turned off the lights and headed up to bed. He undressed and slid beneath the covers, tossing and turning a little before finally falling into a light sleep in which he dreamed of rescuing Blair, over and again, from countless dangers. 

* * *

Jennifer and Ritchie were as good as their word. After a day of watching and waiting, measuring the reactions of the hospital staff, they finally judged it safe to befriend Blair. Now he hung out with them whenever the rules allowed. He ate lunch with them, sat with them during the recreation periods. He was more grateful for the company than he ever could have imagined. He'd never realized how much he depended on ordinary social interactions, the little things, like shooting the breeze with the reference librarian as she helped him find some long forgotten manuscript lost somewhere in the endless stacks, or chatting with the donut girl as he picked out his breakfast. They were never anything terribly intense or intimate, these everyday kind of exchanges, but they were important nonetheless. They made him feel whole and human and alive. Two days of isolation and silence were nearly more than he could handle. 

Of course, it had given him the opportunity to listen and observe, a valuable thing, if not exactly enjoyable. What he had seen disturbed him greatly. He realized that he was no authority on mental health care, but there were so many of the kids who appeared much too together to merit hospitalization. He had to wonder just how many of them were in the same boat as Ritchie and Jennifer, stowed away at an institution simply because their families couldn't deal with certain aspects of their lives. 

"I still find it so hard to believe that parents would prefer to send their kids here rather than just dealing with the fact that they're gay," Blair said to his new friends, seated with them around one of the tables in the day room, pretending to play cards as they chatted. 

Ritchie considered that. "I think it's because they see their kids not as people in their own right, but as extensions of themselves. The last thing they'd want is to be gay, so their kids can't be either." 

"You sound like you're speaking from personal experience," Blair said. 

Ritchie laughed. "Oh, honey, you don't know the half of it. My dear old Pops is a former All-Pro linebacker for the Seattle Seahawks. The one thing he ever wanted was a son to follow in his footsteps. Finally, after four daughters, he gets me. But uh-oh, there's a kink in the plan, and I do mean a kink now, honey. Little Ritchie's interest in football runs more to dating the players and dressing like the cheerleaders. Things are not too happy in our house. I can't tell you how many therapists I've been to see, how many Sunday afternoons I've been forced to spend outside playing catch with the old man, listening to him bitch about how I throw like a girl. I even had to put up with a semester of military school, until I managed to get myself thrown out. You wouldn't believe some of the things Pops has thought up to _straighten_ me out, if you know what I mean. But this...well, I guess the old man must be getting _really_ desperate." 

"That sucks. I'm sorry, man," Blair said. 

Ritchie lowered his eyes for a moment, trying to wrestle the emotions into place. When he looked up again, the easygoing expression was back again. "Well, Blair, sometimes life just does suck. You know how that is. Seems like you're pretty much in the same boat." 

Blair nodded, falling into character, a man in love with another man, not much of a stretch. "Yeah, I guess I am. But what I don't understand is why the hospital goes along with it. I mean, what's in it for them?" 

Ritchie laughed. "Money. What else? Insurance money, to be specific. My father's policy allows for 120 days of inpatient treatment a year. So I got another couple of months." 

"I can't believe it would be so blatant," Blair said. 

"Like clockwork, honey. The minute the well runs dry the kid is magically 'cured.' Of course, the bad news is that you're not getting out before then. You better hope your brother's got bad insurance. Of course, if that were the case, they never would have taken you in the first place." 

Jennifer looked down at the table. 

Ritchie put a hand on her arm. "Oh, honey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up _that_ subject again." 

"It's okay," Jennifer said, although the obvious distress in her face said that it wasn't. "I've gotta go to individual. I'll catch ya later." 

Blair waited for her to go and then asked, "Why was she so upset?" 

"Princess has it hard. Her family's got the money, honey. I mean, there is a reason I call her Princess. You know all those glossy, pretty people in the society pages? Her relatives. She calculates they got enough money to keep her here a couple of years _past_ the end of time. She's got a lot of spirit, that Princess does. She tries not to let it bother her too much. That's why she's so involved in taking care of everybody else, to keep her mind off her own troubles." 

"So she got busted with another woman?" 

"Yeah. Princess got a steady girlfriend. Stacey. She loves that girl to death, misses her something awful. It just breaks my heart to see." 

"That must be really hard for both of them." 

"Yeah, and she worries that Stacey will just forget about her while she's stuck in here. I try to tell her that's never gonna happen, but you know, she can't quite believe it. So what about you, Blair? You got a man waiting for you on the outside?" 

Blair couldn't help dropping his eyes, his cheeks getting a little red as he thought of Jim. 

"Ooooh, I see the answer to that, honey. What's his name?" 

Blair hesitated, looking down at the table. A lie was always more convincing when it bore a striking resemblance to the truth. But in this case, the truth was undercover as his brother. 

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "That's okay. I understand. You don't want to say his name in here. Can't say as I blame you. If you got something good, why make it dirty by bringing it into a place like this? That's cool, man. So you don't want to tell me his name, but what's he like at least? A hero or a zero?" 

Blair smiled, all the joy he felt at the thought of Jim rushing into his face. 

Ritchie whistled appreciatively. "A hero. Definitely. Oooh, you did get lucky, didn't you? Not that I'm surprised--a boy who looks like you. Still. It's not like there's any surplus of good men in the world." 

"He's the best," Blair whispered softly. 

"The big, strong, silent type, I'm betting. You strike me as someone who'd go for that. A little yin to your yang." 

"Big, strong and silent definitely describes him, although it doesn't nearly do him justice." 

"So how big?" Ritchie asked, leaning forward, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

Blair blushed, but the secret door in his mind opened just the same, all the carefully stored images tumbling out, an indulgence he rarely allowed himself. Jim was the most physically unselfconscious person he'd ever met, so there was no dearth of material to draw on: mornings when he came to breakfast in nothing but boxers, times when Blair had tended his scrapes and bruises after some brush with the criminal element. But most deliciously of all, there was the day he'd accidentally walked in on him just as he was coming out of the shower, and Jim, supremely undisturbed by his presence, hadn't even bothered to turn away, leaving his naked body, still beaded with moisture, open to Blair's hungry gaze. 

"That's why they put you in here, isn't it, for loving him?" 

Blair nodded. 

"Was he the first?" 

"The second." 

"Well, I see from the pained look on your face that the first one didn't work out too well." 

"He changed his mind." 

"About the relationship?" 

"About guys." 

Ritchie winced. "That's the worst." 

"That's why I've never..." 

"You and the hero? Never? Not once?" 

Blair shook his head. "My brother found something I wrote about him, kind of erotic, you know? That's how I ended up in here." 

"Does your hero even know?" Ritchie asked. 

"That I'm into guys?" 

Ritchie nodded. 

"No, I don't think so. I haven't been with a guy since I've known him. The other one was before we met. I go out with a lot of girls now." 

Ritchie seemed to understand. "Yeah. When you get burned on one side of the fence, it's natural to look to the other. I mean, if you're into both sides of the fence. Me, I'm not. Girls as friends is good. Girls in my bed is just a crowd. So back to the hero though, am I getting the vibe that he's straight? Is that why you never told him?" 

Blair frowned. "I used to think so, that he was like one hundred percent, pure, unadulterated het. But lately I've been thinking maybe...I think he's had more experience than I gave him credit for." 

Ritchie leaned in, licking his lips, relishing the gossip. "What clued you in?" 

"We live together--you know, roommates. And lately I've just been getting these signals, like maybe he's kind of...into me. You know?" 

"So how far into you do you think he'd like to be?" 

Blair blushed scarlet, and Ritchie laughed. "Never mind. Don't answer that. I can see I've shocked you. But good for you, honey. Good for you. I'm getting the definite vibe that you and the hero are meant for each other. True love, Blair. I see it in the stars for you." 

Blair couldn't help the wide smile that broke out on his face. True love with Jim. Oh yeah, that sounded good. When he got out of this hell hole, he was going to find out once and for all the true nature of his partner's feelings for him. He wasn't going to let the past foreclose his future anymore. If there was any way that Jim could love him, then it would be worth the heart-pounding risk he'd have to take in order to find out. 

"So what about you, Ritchie?" 

"You mean, have I made that love connection yet?" 

Blair nodded. 

"No, I'm afraid not. I mean, I've got a guy. Sort of. Jose. You see? I can say his name in here. That boy's already sullied himself so much that nothing I do could possibly hurt him. You ever been with someone that you just know is a dead end? I mean, you _know_ it. He's about as faithful as a dog in heat, and he's got the attention span of a gnat. But there's just something about him. You can't help yourself. You keep going back, over and over, even though you know no good will ever come of it." 

Blair looked down at the table sheepishly. "Actually, I think I may have _been_ that dog. With women." 

"Well, honey, that _is_ why they call it being heartless. When your heart's not in it, it's a hell of a lot harder to treat a person well." 

"I wasn't just using them to take my mind off my roommate," Blair insisted, defensively. 

Ritchie rolled his eyes. "Uh huh." 

"I swear!" 

"Blair, honey, I believe you. Absolutely, with all my heart. I know at the time you didn't _think_ that's what you were doing, not consciously at least. But way down deep in your secret, hidden heart, that's exactly what you were up to. You wanted the hero. You thought you couldn't have him. Hard truth was that no one else would do. So you set your sights on the ladies and went through girls like Kleenex. Because you knew perfectly well what you really wanted, and they sure as hell weren't it." 

"Oh, God." 

Ritchie shrugged. "So now you know. Now you won't do it anymore. And when you get out of this snake pit, you'll go after your man, get what you really want. Live and learn. I mean, if you got to suffer a couple of months in this place, the least you can do is take away...I don't know, some new insight into things. Right? You know what I mean, Blair?" 

"Yeah, man. That makes sense. And believe me, the first thing I plan to do when I get out of here is have a good, long talk with my roommate." 

Ritchie got a little misty eyed. "You do that, honey. It does my heart good to hear about somebody in love. I mean, if I can't get the real thing myself, it's at least nice to live through somebody else." 

"There's gotta be somebody wonderful out there for you." 

"Ah, I hope so, Blair. But you should always remember that heroes don't grow on trees." 

Blair nodded. "Yeah, Ritchie. Somehow being in this place has really begun to make that clear." 

* * *

Jim flashed his badge and his best smile at the woman behind the desk, the personnel director at the Hill Crest psychiatric facility. 

"I'm investigating a case involving a former employee of the hospital. It would really help me understand what I'm dealing with if I could get a look at his personnel file." 

"What's the name?" the woman asked. 

"Blair Sandburg." 

"Sandburg," she repeated, typing the name into her computer. 

"That's right," he said, smiling again, flirting a little, just for good measure. "I appreciate your helping me out like this, Miss Jackson. I can't tell you how many hours of searching this will save me." 

She blushed slightly, pleased with the attention. "Call me Lisa," she said. 

"Lisa," Jim said, smiling warmly, playing it up. "This guy was employed a while ago, about ten years, if that helps." 

"Yeah, it does actually. That was before we computerized, so we have a paper file with his employment records. But since he left the hospital so long ago, I'm not sure if we would have hung onto it or not." 

"Would it be too much trouble to check?" 

Lisa smiled brightly. "Not at all, detective. I'd be happy to take a look for you." 

She got up and moved to a file cabinet near the back of the room. She dug through the top drawer and then moved to the next one, flipping quickly through the file folders. 

After several minutes, she pulled one out. "Here it is. I just need to check through it first and make sure there's nothing in here that I can't allow you to see without a court order. You know, it's the law and all." 

"Of course. I understand completely," he told her. 

She returned to her desk and quickly scanned the contents of the file. "No, it's fine. You're welcome to use Kathy's desk. She'll be out to lunch another half hour or so. You can take notes if you like, but I can't allow you to remove anything from the file or to make photocopies." 

"Thanks," he said, taking the file and seating himself at the empty desk 

He opened the folder, and his heart turned over in his chest. Paperclipped to the inside was a small photograph of Blair, from more than ten years ago, taken when he was only eighteen. 

//Oh my God!// 

He still sometimes caught himself referring to his partner as "the kid," even though he knew Blair was a grown man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But this Blair...now this truly was a kid. He looked so young and innocent in the picture, the same wild hair and big blue eyes, but strangely vulnerable. If he'd ever felt protective of his friend before, it was nothing compared to the warm rush of solicitude he felt for this teenaged Blair. 

He glanced over at Lisa who was engrossed in her paperwork. He quickly removed the photograph and pocketed it. He often used photographs during an investigation, to help him get a sense of the people involved, to remind him what was at stake. For all intents and purposes, this Blair was a stranger to him. Being able to puzzle over the boy in the photograph might help him get into the mindset of that younger Blair, might help him figure out what happened to him, so he could get _his_ Blair out of harm's way. 

If there were other reasons why he felt the need to steal the picture, he chose not to explore them. 

He leafed through the rest of the information. There was little of particular use to his investigation, although he found it all personally interesting. Most of the contents were simply routine paperwork, but there were several notes from doctors, nurses and other staff members praising Blair's work with the patients. This certainly came as no surprise, but it did make him proud. The last item in the folder was the notice of termination. It said only that Blair had been fired for unsatisfactory job performance, odd given all the glowing commendations, one dated only two days before he was let go. 

"Excuse me, Lisa?" 

"Yes, Detective Ellison?" 

Jim took the folder over to her desk. "The reason for termination here doesn't really give much information. I was wondering if you might recall the circumstances." 

She frowned. "I'm afraid not. Most of us are fairly new around here, only a couple of years on the job. This was long before my time or before anyone else here in personnel for that matter." She looked through the folder. "Although...here's a letter of commendation written by a nurse who's still on staff with us. Her name is Terri Haskins. Maybe you'd like to speak with her about Mr. Sandburg?" 

"That would be great. Is she on duty today?" 

Lisa opened a drawer and consulted a master copy of the schedule. "You're in luck. She's on the third floor at the nurse's station there. I'll call up and tell her to expect you." 

"Thank you so much for your help, Miss Jackson." 

"Lisa," she insisted, smiling brightly. 

"Lisa, I appreciate it." 

"My pleasure, detective." 

Jim took the stairs, two at a time, and found his way to the nurse's station. A kindly looking woman in her late forties glanced up from the chart she was annotating. "Detective Ellison?" she asked. 

"Ms. Haskins?" 

"Yes. Lisa said you wanted to speak to me about Blair Sandburg." 

"Yes, ma'am. I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on the circumstances that led to his being fired." 

"That was a long time ago." 

"I realize that." 

"What's your interest in Blair?" she asked, sounding defensive. 

//Ah, so she doesn't want to get Sandburg into any trouble. It figures. He makes friends everywhere he goes.// 

"I'm not really at liberty to say why I need the information, Ms. Haskins, but I can assure you that we don't suspect him of any criminal wrongdoing. It would just help us on an important matter if we could get a sense of what happened here ten years ago. I was hoping you could tell me a little about Mr. Sandburg's time here." 

She studied him a long moment and finally said, "Blair was a really wonderful person. He worked on this floor, so I got to know him pretty well. He was a funny, hyperactive kid, tons of enthusiasm for just about everything, a big, big heart." She smiled, remembering. "He could talk a mile a minute, and he knew a little something about everything. You wouldn't believe some of the subjects he could get started on." 

Jim suppressed a smile and the urge to assure the woman that he knew perfectly well the arcane lore Sandburg could rattle off without even breaking a sweat. 

"It was obvious that he had a lot of potential, that he was going to be somebody special when he grew up," she continued. "I always wondered what became of him." 

Again, Jim had to resist the impulse to tell this woman, who had obviously thought very highly of his partner, just how well he had turned out. 

"That's why I always felt it was such a shame that he got fired. He was so good with the patients--gentle, kind, endlessly patient. But what else could the hospital have done really? I mean, he'd misrepresented himself from the get go." 

Jim frowned. "What do you mean?" 

"Blair wasn't just another student looking for a little extra spending money. He started working here specifically to get to a patient--some friend of his. They only found out when he tried to help the boy escape. He was pretty lucky they didn't have him arrested. Although luck probably had nothing to do with it. He was quite a talker, could get himself out of anything. You know the kind?" the woman asked. 

Jim nodded. He knew Blair's gift for gab, his power of persuasion as well as he knew his own name. 

"I don't remember the details very well, but somehow he convinced them just to fire him. He probably told them it would bring a lot of publicity if they didn't. Things were a little...lax, shall we say, back then. Public attention would have been the last thing they wanted." 

"What do you mean by lax?" 

"Not as careful about who they admitted as they might have been. I know it sounds really unlikely in this day and age, but some people still try to use the mental health care system as a way of getting rid of people, kids who are too much trouble or a spouse who won't agree to a divorce. The administrator back at that time was open to...certain incentives, shall we say." 

"You mean, he was taking bribes?" 

"I'd rather not come out and say that. There never was any proof. I mean, he wasn't exactly forced out. He and the board 'came to a mutual agreement.' But yeah, that was definitely the talk. And right around the time he left, we had maybe thirty percent of our patients suddenly released, just like that. That's unheard of." 

"Who was this guy?" 

"Dr. Thompson. Fred Thompson." 

Jim felt himself go cold all over. Shit! He'd sent the kid into another situation where his cover could easily be blown. 

Somehow he managed to speak past the lump in his throat. "He's the one who fired Blair?" 

"Well, no, not directly. He wasn't actually on premises when that whole thing broke open. Dr. Thompson is fairly prestigious in the field. He lent his name to the hospital, but other people were responsible for the actual day-to-day administration and for dealing with the patients. He travelled a great deal. I saw him maybe once or twice the entire time he was on staff. From what I understand, that's how he got out of taking responsibility for what was going on. He claimed he knew nothing about it." 

"You didn't believe that?" 

She hesitated. "It's not like I had any evidence, any concrete reason to doubt him. But the few times I met the man he struck me as the really controlling type. Even if he was basically an absentee director around here, I still couldn't see him not being on top of things, not knowing exactly what was going on. He had a rather intimidating presence. People were scared of him. I just couldn't imagine anybody being brave or stupid enough to go behind his back like that." 

He nodded, absorbing this new information. Terri Haskins struck him as a reasonable and observant person. He trusted her instincts about Dr. Thompson. But it left him in a quandary about what to do about Blair. Thompson hadn't seemed to recognize him that day. It had been years since Blair worked at Hill Crest, and it was possible that he'd never even so much as passed the man in the hallway. Still, his Blessed Protector code demanded that if there was any possibility Blair could be in danger then he had to get him out of there. 

"Would you happen to remember who the friend was, the one Mr. Sandburg tried to help escape?" he asked. 

The woman's face saddened. "David Donnelly. But I'm afraid you can't talk to him. He killed himself not long after he was released from care." 

Jim managed to keep his expression neutral, but his gut twisted. He could just imagine how hard Sandburg had taken the suicide of a close friend, how he must have blamed himself for not being able to help the boy. //That explains why he's so hell bent on helping Jennifer Ross. Shit, shit, shit!// 

"Well, thank you Ms. Haskins, you've been a lot of help. I appreciate it." 

He was already halfway down the hall when she called him back. 

"I'm sorry, Detective. I really only told you half the truth. You know when I said David was Blair's friend? Well, that was kind of a euphemism. I'm pretty sure he was Blair's lover. I'm also fairly certain their relationship pushed David's parents to have him committed. I mean, the official diagnosis was depression, but there were a lot of kids here back then because their parents didn't want them to be gay. They were all labeled as depressed." 

This time Jim couldn't keep the horrified expression off his face. //God, Sandburg, what kind of hell did you go through back then? And why didn't I know you had male lovers?// 

"I know, Detective," Nurse Haskins said, misinterpreting his expression. "It's pretty horrible to lock kids up for their sexual orientation. I swear, we don't do that kind of thing here anymore." 

"I'm glad to hear that at least." 

"I went to his funeral--David, I mean. He was a good kid. I was so sorry to hear what happened to him. And Blair, he was a good kid too. I hope he's not in any kind of trouble." 

Jim shook his head. "No, Ms. Haskins. No trouble." He prayed to God that was true. "Thank you. I really do appreciate all your help." 

She nodded and smiled, before going back to work. 

* * *

[Continued in part two](whygo_a.html).

 


	2. Chapter 2

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Why Go Home

by Annabelle Leigh

Author's webpage: <http://internetdump.com/users/fictionbythesea>

Author's notes and disclaimer can be found in part one. 

* * *

Why Go Home? - part two  
by Annabelle Leigh 

After lunch, Blair made a point to seek out Jennifer, to follow up on what he'd learned from Ritchie, to see if he could get any information from her, something that might help him find the evidence he needed. 

"Hey," he said to her. "Mind if I sit down?" 

"Not at all," she said, smiling. "Join me in a game of backgammon? They say it's very calming, good for us nutcases." 

He returned her smile. "Love to." 

"Do you want to be white or black?" 

"Doesn't matter." 

"You can be black," she offered. "Black goes first, and I have to warn you that I'm a backgammon shark. So you _will_ need every advantage." 

"Thanks for the fair warning." He grinned at her. 

"Well, we _are_ friends." 

Jennifer set up the backgammon board, and Blair made his first move. 

"I was sorry that we upset you earlier. I didn't mean to tread on sensitive ground," he said. 

She waved off his apology. "It's not your fault. It's just the way things are. I have to get used to it. It's just kind of hard sometimes." 

Blair nodded. "Yeah, it sure is, especially with... Ritchie told me about your girlfriend. Stacey, isn't it?" 

Jennifer reacted to the mention of her lover's name with happiness, followed quickly by pain. 

"Yeah," she said softly. "That's her name. God, I miss her." 

"I can imagine," Blair said, compassionately. "What's she like?" 

Jennifer's face lit up. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever known. The most beautiful person, period. She's very, very sweet and terribly serious and smart as a whip. She's got the kindest heart. We have three cats now, because she keeps finding strays and taking them in. She can't stand the idea that they might starve or end up at the SPCA where they'll be destroyed. She's absolutely the best thing that's ever happened to me, and my only hope in life is that I can get out of here before it's too late for us." 

She said it in a uninterrupted, breathless stream, pouring out her heart. After she finished, it was as if she finally recollected where she was, who she was talking to, and she blushed furiously. 

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that I spend so much time pretending to hate the woman I love, agreeing with them that she's a bad influence, since that's my only prayer of ever getting out of here. So it's just such a relief, such a luxury to be able to talk about her honestly, with someone who hasn't heard it all before. Poor Ritchie still tries to listen as if he's interested, but it's starting to put him into a coma." 

"It must be really hard, having to pretend like that." 

The same weary, stricken expression he'd seen earlier that day came over her face. "It's sheer hell, Blair. It makes me feel sick inside to deny Stacey. It makes me feel crazy to always have to say the opposite of what's really true--like seeing white and always having to call it black. If I ever actually go over the edge, that's what will do it to me." 

"That's just so wrong. I mean, I guess there's no point in resisting, but it really pisses me off." 

She grabbed his arm, urgently, almost hurting him, surprisingly strong for someone her size. "Don't do it, Blair! I had the same idea when I first got here, the same rebellious impulse. But believe me, it gets you absolutely nowhere but drugged and strapped down to your bed. They have all the power, and fighting back is considered a sign that you're really troubled. Their philosophy is that they have to break you in order to put you back together the right way. You don't know what it's like to be stripped of everything that gives you a sense of humanity, not allowed to move, to keep yourself clean, to be in your right mind. It makes you so damned grateful afterwards for even the smallest of privileges--a shower on a regular basis, to be allowed to watch television, conversation with other human beings. I just...I never want to see anyone else go through what I did. I feel really lucky to have made it out the other side with some sense of self intact." 

"That rough, huh?" 

Tears gathered in her eyes. "Really, really bad." 

"I'll be careful. I'll go along to get along." 

She managed to smile through her unhappiness. "Now that's the Larchmore spirit I like to hear." 

Ralph, the orderly who gave him the creeps, came closer, and they both fell silent, pretending to concentrate on the backgammon board. Blair moved one of his pieces, and Jennifer countered. Ralph stopped by their table, staring down at the game board. 

"You got a move there," Ralph pointed out to Blair. "It will put you ahead of her." 

"Hey, thanks, man," Blair mumbled, following his advice. 

Ralph smiled at him, in that unsettling way of his. "My pleasure." 

Blair nervously dropped his eyes, and Jennifer struggled not to glare at the man, careful to keep her attention on the game. But Blair could see her white knuckles as she gripped the edge of the table, trying to decide her next move. 

"See you later," Ralph said and moved off to another table. 

Jennifer let out the breath she'd been holding. "Shit, Blair. Speaking of being careful, do _not_ trust that pig. He may come on all smooth and helpful at first, but his favorite pastime is cornering patients in the isolation room when there's nobody else around. And don't count on your being a guy to put him off. Believe me, he doesn't discriminate. He's an equal opportunity rapist." 

Blair stared at her, eyes wide with shock. It was difficult to believe the depth of abuse there was to investigate in this place. "Do you know that for sure?" 

Jennifer shook her head. "Not exactly. This place doesn't inspire people to trust or encourage them to exchange confidences. But there's this kid, Dougie, who came in with some problems. Unlike most of us, he probably did need professional help. And at first, he seemed to be getting a little better. He was less withdrawn. He talked a little in group. He got into painting ceramics in art therapy. He'd smile every now and then. I was working on making friends with him. Not that he ever said much. But he'd let me sit with him at lunch, and every now and then he'd make some comment. You know, nothing big, about some movie he liked or a television show or the weather. But it was communication, you know? And then Ralph started taking an interest in him. At first, Dougie didn't seem to mind. The truth is, as skittish around people as he was, I think Dougie desperately needed attention. But then something changed. Every time Ralph came around, Dougie got terrified. I mean, it was so obvious anyone could see it. And he stopped talking completely. One day I tried to have lunch with him, you know, like I'd done a million times before, and he just got all spooked and jumped up. But before he did, I saw bruises on his arms, Blair. Finger marks. Hand prints. And when he sat down at another table, he made this terrible, pained sound and nearly jumped out of the chair, you know, like it hurt." 

"So you think..." 

"I think Ralph anally raped him," Jennifer said bluntly. "God knows how many times or what else he may have done to him. But it wasn't long after that day in the cafeteria that Dougie stopped responding altogether--like he didn't see you standing there or hear you when you were talking to him. He's in long-term care now. Completely catatonic. I don't have any evidence that's what happened to him, only my instinct. It just screams at me that Ralph is big time trouble. So please, Blair, don't mess with him." 

Blair shook his head soberly. "No. I agree with you. He gives me the creeps, too. But he shouldn't be able to get away with something like that. I mean, if he brutalized a frightened, troubled, defenseless kid and drove him over the edge, there ought to be some kind of justice for that." 

Jennifer covered Blair's hand with her own and smiled at him. "See? We're just meant to be friends. But Blair, as much as I agree with you in spirit, I have to tell you that you'll quickly find it's naive to expect any kind of justice in this place." 

* * *

There were plenty of things Jim should have done after learning Blair's secret. He should have called Simon, reported back to the department, worked out a plan of action with his superior officer, waited for Dr. Thompson's office to call about the results of the three day evaluation and then proceeded with their plan. He should have taken a deep breath, a walk around the park, anything to give himself an opportunity to calm down. 

He didn't do any of those things. Instead, he hurried back to the truck and tore off toward Larchmore, too panicked for his partner to give a damn about proper procedure. 

//I knew there was something up with him. It's not like he's especially good at hiding things from me, and I let him walk into this mess anyway. Shit! What the hell kind of Blessed Protector am I?// 

It would have been bad enough if it was simply that Blair was too personally involved, but Dr. Thompson had run Hill Crest when Blair was employed there. Even if Dr. Thompson hadn't personally fired him, even if he'd never met him, the man could have seen his personnel file, like Jim had, the one that contained his picture. It may have been ten years ago, but it was the kind of thing that would stick in a person's mind. Even if the doctor hadn't recognized Blair during their interview, it could come to him at any time. If there was any possibility that Blair was in danger, there was no way Jim was going to leave him there. 

He pulled into the parking lot and stopped the truck with a squeal of rubber against blacktop. He dashed into the building and straight to the front desk. 

"I made a mistake," he told the nurse stationed there. "I've come for my brother. I'm going to take him home. Now." 

"Sir, calm down. I have no idea what you're talking about, but if you slow down a little and explain, I'm sure I can help you. I'm sure your brother is receiving the best possible care..." 

Jim turned away from her impatiently and headed toward the director's office. 

"Sir! Excuse me, sir! You can't go in there. I'll have to call security." 

Jim didn't look back or stop, striding purposefully down the corridor. As he opened the door into the outer waiting room of the director's office, his secretary was just hanging up the phone, obviously a call from the woman at the front desk. 

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, standing up, trying to block his way. "Dr. Thompson can't see you right now. He's tied up with hospital business. Perhaps we could schedule an appointment for a more convenient time?" 

Jim ignored her, pushing his way into the doctor's inner office. 

"Yes, I'm glad to hear that," the doctor was saying into the phone, seated behind his desk, surprised when Jim barged in. "Keep me apprized of the situation. I'm sorry, Dr. Thornsen, I have someone waiting for me. I need to go. Yes. Very well then. I'll see you at the conference in New York. Bye now." He hung up the phone, watching Jim curiously. 

"I made a mistake," Jim told him. "I'm here to take my brother home." 

"I'm sorry, Dr. Thompson. I tried to keep him from just bursting in like this," the secretary apologized. 

The doctor waved her off. "That's okay, Sally. I can see that Mr. Ellis is rather upset about his brother. It's not your fault. I'll take care of it." He motioned Jim toward a chair. "Please, take a seat, Mr. Ellis. Let's discuss your reservations. I feel certain we can put this whole thing to rest." 

Jim sat down, and Sally reluctantly left, closing the door behind her. Dr. Thompson took his seat and regarded Jim across the desk, his expression composed, with the measured patience of his profession. It annoyed the hell out of Jim. 

"So tell me, Mr. Ellis, how can I help you?" 

"I've thought about it some more, and I realized that it's Blair's life. He's gotta be who he is, not who I want him to be. I have to respect his choices, even if I don't agree with them." 

"Mr. Ellis, I've examined your brother, and I have to tell you that he is a very unwell young man. His inappropriate sexual behavior is only a surface issue. On a deeper level, he's extremely depressed, perhaps due to unprocessed feelings related to the death of his parents. I couldn't in good conscience release him now. He could very well pose a danger to himself and quite possibly to you as well. He has a great deal of anger and aggression towards you. Blair is really just an explosion waiting to happen. In my professional opinion, he requires further treatment and counseling. That's what I planned to tell you when we met to discuss the results of my evaluation. It's my opinion that Blair needs a longer stay here." 

"How long?" 

The doctor gave Jim a patronizing look. "It's not like fixing a car, Mr. Ellis. I can't give you an estimate. The human mind is complex and unpredictable. But I can tell you that we're already beginning to make progress. This is only the third day, but Blair seems to have adjusted well to being here. He's talking in his group therapy. He's accepting our rules and our standards. Don't give up on us just yet. I think you'll be very pleased with the positive improvement in Blair once we've had a chance to work with him longer." 

Jim took a moment, putting on a thoughtful and agonized expression, as if he truly were wrestling with what to do. Finally he said, "You know, Dr. Thompson, I really appreciate your position and everything you want to do for Blair. I really do. But I made a mistake. I see that now. I just want to take my brother home with me. If he needs help, I'll make sure he goes to therapy, but I don't think he belongs in a hospital. I want him released. Now." 

Jim watched the doctor's entire demeanor change, becoming terse and glacial. //Oooh, it just got chilly in here.// 

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Ellis. You'll find I have the legal authority to hold Blair for 30 days for further evaluation. I'll need that time to determine the full extent of his problems." 

"I want another opinion," Jim demanded. 

"He's also been reviewed by Dr. Hannigan, the staff psychiatrist in charge of his treatment. She concurs with my diagnosis." 

Jim began to feel desperate. "At least let me see him." 

The doctor shook his head. "That's against policy. We find that seeing family members, especially at the beginning, interferes with the therapeutic process." 

There was no way Jim was going to leave the building without seeing Blair. "I understand that rules are rules. But it would really help me feel easy about Blair staying here for a whole _month_ if I could just see him for myself and make sure he's okay. That way I won't feel the need to call in an outside doctor for an independent opinion." 

He could see the doctor calculating his options. //Oh, yes. Got you where you live. // 

"Well...perhaps there is something we can do," the man finally said. "I mean it really is out of the ordinary, but if it will give you confidence in our work and peace of mind, then I suppose..." He hit the button on the intercom. "Sally, can you have Ralph report to my office?" 

A few minutes later, the same orderly from the other day materialized. 

"Ralph, you remember Jim Ellis, Blair's half brother?" the doctor asked, reacquainting them. 

The orderly shook Jim's hand. "Yes, of course. How are you, Mr. Ellis?" 

"Mr. Ellis is a little concerned about how his brother is doing under our care," Dr. Thompson explained. "Even though it's not our usual policy, I think it will be okay in this case if he visits with Blair briefly. Can you go find him and bring him to the conference room? Try to prepare him for seeing his brother as well as you can." He turned to Jim. "You see, Mr. Ellis, we tell our patients not to expect visitors. We don't want to jar him." 

"I understand," Jim said. 

"I'll see to it right away," Ralph said, leaving the room. 

Dr. Thompson rose to his feet. "It will take him just a moment to prepare Blair. Why don't we get a cup of coffee on our way to the conference room?" 

"After you, Doctor." 

* * *

Blair was sitting next to Ritchie and Jennifer in the day room, watching a rerun of Quantum Leap, wishing he could jump into another life and take his friends with him, anything to get out of Larchmore, when Ralph touched him lightly on the shoulder. He started. 

"Sorry to pull you away from the show, Blair," he said. "But you've got a visitor waiting for you in the conference room. I came to take you down there." 

"A visitor?" Blair asked, knowing it must be Jim, coming to check on him at the three-day mark, like they'd agreed. 

Ralph smiled. "Yeah, it's against rules, but I guess you got lucky. Doc said it's okay for your brother to see you." 

"Oh, okay then. Now?" 

"We don't want to keep the man waiting." 

Blair got up, and Ralph followed him out of the room, making small talk as they went. Once they were halfway down the hall, the orderly's demeanor changed radically. Even though Blair had been wary of him, it still managed to surprise him. The last thing he'd expected was to be slammed up against the wall. 

Ralph got in his face. "That brother of yours is making trouble for Dr. Thompson. I don't like trouble, Ellis, and I certainly don't like _troublemakers_." 

"Hey, man. Let go. I don't have any control over what _Jim_ does. It's not my fault. You got a problem, take it up with him." 

Ralph grabbed him by the throat, cutting off his air flow. "Let me lay down the law for you, Ellis. You speak when I tell you. Otherwise, you shut up. Got it?" 

Blair could only nod. 

"Now, you're gonna go into that conference room to see your brother, and you're gonna convince him that everything's fine. That you understand why you're here. That you think you need to stay. You got it?" 

Blair nodded again, and Ralph released his grip. Blair gasped for air. 

"In case you get any thoughts about pulling something funny, I'll be in the room the whole time, listening to every word you say. If I hear anything that even _remotely_ sounds like you're trying to send a message, you'll pay for it later. Understand?" 

Blair nodded, his eyes wide with shock, the cold fear beginning to grip him. 

"And just in case that's not enough for you, I'll come after your little girlfriend too." 

Blair felt distinctly sick, realizing the man was threatening Jennifer. 

"That's right, pretty boy. I see the two of you hanging out all the time. I know you like her. Wouldn't want anything to happen to her, would you? Wouldn't want some unfortunate accident to meet up with your little dyke gal pal, huh? Would we?" Ralph taunted. 

Blair shook his head silently. Now he couldn't even signal Jim that he was in trouble. He didn't have the evidence to help Jennifer yet, and there was no way he'd leave her alone in this place, defenseless, at the mercy of this sick bastard. 

"Good. Now you just remember what I told you when you're talking to that big brother of yours. Remember that everything's fine. You like it here. You're already feeling better. This is where you need to be. Got it?" 

Blair nodded, too shaken to speak. 

"Good," Ralph said. "Now let's get you reunited with your family." 

* * *

Something was terribly wrong. That's what every instinct Jim had shrieked at him. Blair shambled into the room and sat mutely down in the chair the orderly pointed to. His partner wouldn't meet his eyes, keeping his gaze carefully downturned, as if the wood grain of the conference table was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen. The orderly hovered behind Blair's chair, and he had to wonder if it was his presence that was making Blair act so strangely. 

"I'd like some time alone with my brother," Jim told the man. 

The orderly shook his head. "No can do, I'm afraid. It's strictly against policy. The doc gave specific instructions." 

"Couldn't you at least wait outside with the door open?" Jim snapped at him. 

He shook his head again. "Nope. Still against the rules. I have to be present at all times during a visit. It's for the patient's well-being, in case they get upset." 

Jim finally gave up and turned back to his partner. "So how are you, buddy? Everything okay?" Jim asked him. 

"It's fine, Jim," Blair said. 

Blair finally glanced up, and he really did look like a kid, strangely vulnerable. That shook Jim. Blair was usually so strong and capable, gutsy even. But there was fear in his eyes today. Jim could see it. He could smell it, hear Blair's thundering pulse, the product of terror. 

"I was a little worried about you," Jim told him, trying to remember to stay in character, to act like the older brother. 

What he really wanted to do was draw his gun, arrest anyone who tried to get in his way and get his partner the hell out of there. 

"There's no need for you to worry. Things are going good. I'm starting to feel better," Blair assured him, but his every vital sign told a different story. 

"I came to take you home. I'm so sorry, Blair. I really thought this was the best thing for you, but this morning, I woke up and realized I'd made a terrible mistake. You're fine, just the way you are," he told his partner, earnestly, impassionedly, willing him to understand. 

But Blair shook his head. "No, you were right in the first place. I do need to work some things out. I realize now that I have been having some problems since Mom and Dad died. Dr. Hannigan, she's my individual therapist, has really been helping. I like her. I don't mind staying. I really... I think it'll be good for me." 

He stared at Blair in disbelief. //Come on, buddy. Give me the sign. Let me get you out of here. Whisper it. I'll hear you. Come on, Blair. Damn it! You're over your head, whether you realize it or not.// 

But Blair didn't give him the signal. He just sat there quietly, his eyes cast down, not volunteering anything, answering only when spoken to. Jim kept asking him questions, covering and recovering the same ground, hoping that Blair would whisper some special message for his Sentinel hearing, but he just kept saying the same things, how great the hospital was and how much he needed help. 

//Someone got to him. Someone's made him afraid to tell me anything. They don't want him to leave for some reason. Oh God, what if they know who he is? He would give me the sign, wouldn't he? That's what the damned thing is for.// 

"Okay, Blair, it's time for your individual session with Dr. Hannigan," the orderly finally said, urging Blair to his feet, guiding him to the door. 

"We're not finished yet," Jim protested. 

"Sorry, Mr. Ellis, but you don't want your brother here to miss his therapy, do you?" 

//Fuck you, asshole. The only thing I care about is getting my partner _out_ of here.// 

"I suppose not," he finally said, managing to control himself. 

Even though every instinct he had screamed at him just to end this whole charade once and for all, another part of him insisted on trusting Blair. //He's no novice at this. He knows what he's doing. If he wants to stay, there must be some reason. I've just got to have some faith in him.// 

"Blair?" he called after his partner. "Take care of yourself." 

Blair nodded. "Bye, Jim." 

"Bye, Chief." 

The look Blair gave him at hearing the familiar nickname nearly broke his heart; his expression was absolutely forlorn, as if he wished he were going home with Jim but couldn't allow himself to do it for some reason. It sent Jim into a tailspin, making him seriously doubt his decision to let Blair stay. But finally he just watched as Ralph led him out of the room. 

Dr. Thompson met him outside the conference room. "So, Mr. Ellis, I trust you enjoyed the visit with your brother?" 

He nodded, distracted by worry. 

"How did Blair seem to you?" the doctor asked. 

"Fine," Jim said. "Eager to stay." 

"See? I told you we were making progress already. Believe me, Mr. Ellis, we will help your brother. You just have to trust us to do our job." 

//I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you. I'm only leaving Blair here for _now_. We'll see what Simon has to say about this.// 

"Thank you for your time, Dr. Thompson," he said out loud. "I appreciate the opportunity to visit with Blair and see for myself." 

"It was our pleasure, Mr. Ellis. We want our patients' loved ones to feel confident about their care." 

//I'm sure you do, asshole. I'm just sure you do. Wouldn't want anything to jeopardize all that insurance money you're raking in. But make no mistake, _doctor_ , I will find out what the hell is going on around here, why Blair was so terrified, and then I'm bringing you down. Bet on it.// 

* * *

By the time Jim returned to the station, he had a pounding headache and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. That last image of Blair, looking so desperate, played over and again in his head. He parked the truck and waited for the elevator, jabbing at the button impatiently until the doors finally opened. By the time he made his way up to Major Crimes, his agitation had only gathered steam. 

"Hey, Jim," Brown said. "How's it going? Heard anything from Hairboy?" 

"Later, H," he said, waving off the other cop, making a beeline for Simon's office. 

He went in and shut the door behind him. "We need to pull Sandburg out of Larchmore immediately." 

Simon looked up from his paperwork, annoyed by the interruption. He sighed heavily. "I thought we had this settled. Look, Jim, I know you're not crazy about the idea of Blair going undercover, but we need him on this." 

"He's in trouble, Simon," Jim said, hesitating about how much of the story he should confide in his commanding officer. "I found out some stuff... Blair's been through something a little like this. That's why he identifies so much with Stacey Walters. It's why he volunteered to help Jennifer Ross. His emotions are involved. It's not safe." 

Simon's face showed his surprise. "How do you know all this?" 

Jim couldn't quite meet his eye. 

"You checked him out, huh?" Simon guessed. 

Jim nodded. 

"You realize he's going to hit the roof when he finds out." 

"Respectfully, sir, that's nothing compared to his safety, his _life_. Even if Sandburg hates my guts, it would be worth it." 

Simon watched him, appraisingly. "I hope you're right about that." 

"There's something else too, Simon. The other hospital where Blair worked? The same doctor in charge back then is now the director at Larchmore--Dr. Thompson, the one we met with that first day. Blair's cover could be blown." 

"So this Dr. Thompson knew Blair when he worked at the other hospital?" 

Jim stared down at the floor. 

"Jim?" 

"Maybe not. Apparently he was something of an absentee administrator." 

"You didn't get a feeling during the interview? Nothing register with your senses?" 

Jim shook his head. "No," he admitted, grudgingly. 

"Then I doubt he connects it. It's been a long time. And you didn't sense anything from Blair during the interview, that he recognized the guy?" 

"No, not then. But I got a terrible feeling when I saw Blair today. Something is definitely wrong _now_ ," Jim insisted. 

"You went back to Larchmore without clearing it with me first?" Simon asked, his voice rising testily. 

Jim looked a little sheepish. "I was worried about him. We _have_ to get him out of there." 

"They let you see him, huh? It doesn't exactly sound like they're trying to cover up anything, does it?" 

"He didn't look like himself. I swear, there's something going on. Come on, Simon. I'm a _Sentinel_. I know shit like this. 

"He give you the high sign?" Simon asked, watching him carefully. 

Jim hesitated, not yet ready to concede. 

"He didn't, did he?" Simon pressed. 

"No. But something was definitely wrong. I'm telling you. His vital signs were off the charts. He was terrified. I could smell it. For some reason he couldn't give me the signal." 

"Jim, Blair's not a cop. As well as he handles himself in these situations, it's not reasonable to expect him to be as cool under pressure as, say, you would be. That doesn't mean he isn't doing okay. In fact, seeming kind of scared works for the situation he's in. It's good for his cover." 

"Like you said, Simon, Blair's not a cop. He's personally involved. Plus, there's someone at Larchmore who could recognize him. We need to get him out of there now. You know what almost happened at Conover." 

"That's a facility for the criminally insane, Jim. It's hardly the same situation at Larchmore. If the director didn't recognize him during the initial interview, it's doubtful he ever will. It's been over ten years, after all, and you yourself said that Dr. Thompson probably never even met Blair back then. I doubt the man's changed much over the years. Probably isn't any more involved in the day-to-day running of things than he was years ago." 

"But Simon--" 

"No, Jim. I'm not going to underestimate the kid here. Sandburg's shown in the past that he's perfectly capable of handling himself. If he didn't give you the signal, then he must think there's still something he can find out. If we're going to help Miss Ross, we'll need evidence." 

Jim began to pace, growing more agitated by the minute. "I can't believe you're saying this. You do remember that Sandburg's a civilian, right? That it's our responsibility to keep him out of dangerous situations?" 

"Don't take that tone with me, detective. I'm perfectly well aware of our responsibilities toward our civilian observer." 

"Fine, sir. I'll go back to my desk and work on typing up those reports I owe you while Sandburg's rotting away in that place. But so help me, if anything happens to him..." 

"Go ahead and finish it, Detective Ellison," Simon said, both his voice and his expression downright arctic. 

Jim just set his jaw and looked away, unwilling to out-and-out threaten his friend and commanding officer. "I just wonder if this has something to do with what happened between you and Blair during the Roy Williams case," he finally said. 

"What?!" 

"Blair didn't feel like you trusted him, he got pissed, you two had words. I just think maybe you're overcompensating now." 

"What?!" 

"You heard me." 

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you're questioning my judgment and my ability to command, because we've been friends so long and this is Sandburg we're talking about. But Jim, don't you think the truth of the matter is that _you're_ the one who's too personally involved here?" Simon asked quietly. 

Jim flushed deeply, staring at his captain in disbelief, before leaving his office without another word. 

* * *

Jim paced the loft like an agitated panther, in what had become a habit since Blair had gone undercover at Larchmore. His mind buzzed with disturbing thoughts, and his body was still clenched with anger at what Simon had said to him. //You're the one who's too personally involved, Jim.// Another ragged surge of fury overtook him as he replayed it in his mind. He knew exactly what that meant coming from Simon, and he couldn't believe his commanding officer would resort to bringing _that_ up. He'd worked with Simon for years now, and his captain had never once thrown _that_ in his face, never once questioned his ability to do his job because of his sexual orientation. 

Simon had clearly demonstrated from day one that he didn't care how Jim swung--the other way or both ways or no way at all. It just had never mattered to him, so Jim had never been particularly concerned with what he knew. Hell, at this point, most of Major Crimes had his number, and they'd probably figured it out long before he had. It had come as something of a surprise that no one had ever hassled him about it. But he kept it out of their faces, and that seemed to be enough for them. 

Of course, when Blair had first started working with him, he'd heard the buzzing voices pick up again, puzzling over Sandburg, his relationship to Jim, most of it just idle curiosity. Oh, a few people had sounded hostile, calling Blair _Ellison's boytoy_ or _that little long-haired faggot_. Eventually, they'd all come to believe, as he had, apparently in error, that Blair was as straight as the day was long, and that had been the end of the buzzing voices. They'd accepted Blair after that, most of them at least, and he'd finally been able to relax the "fuck with him and you fuck with me" attitude he'd projected whenever Blair was working with him at the station. 

It made Jim smile sometimes when he thought back to how he'd schooled Blair at the beginning never to say they were partners and then how quickly he'd discarded his own advice. He'd never been very good at working with other people, but Blair had been an unexpectedly natural fit. He truly was Jim's partner, the best he'd ever had, even though he wasn't a cop, maybe precisely for that reason. Even Simon now accepted him as part of the team. Hell, Simon was crazy about Blair, respected him, not that he liked to go around broadcasting the fact. But he wouldn't have trusted Blair with this assignment if he didn't. So why was Simon bringing up all that old stuff, suggesting that there was more to his concern for Blair than simply looking out for a partner, a friend? 

Jim paced around the loft with increased agitation as the answer to his own question started to dawn on him. 

Because his feelings tended to creep up on him. Hell, he was often the last to know. Because Simon was objective and a trained observer, a damned good one too. Because Simon had realized, even if he hadn't, that his feelings for Blair had long since moved beyond friendship. Because he was so impossibly in love with Blair he couldn't see his way clear. 

//Oh, shit!// 

Jim had been so careful since he met Blair. Whatever Blair's history, whatever David Donnelly had meant to him, as long as Jim had known him, his only interest had been in women. Jim had never once smelled a man on him, had never seen him respond to any guy, never accept any of the numerous offers he received, never even pause to think about it. Jim had found it strangely fascinating--the assumptions people made about Blair based on his long hair and earrings, his emotional openness and hippie attitudes. It was completely contrary to what Jim's senses told him was the actual case, that Blair slept exclusively and extensively with women. Or at least that's what he had thought until today. 

That's why he'd never even let himself consider Blair. In fact, he'd schooled himself against it, exerting his will, even in the most extreme of circumstances--when he was supporting Blair's trembling body as he walked him away from Lash's lair, when he was touching his partner's warm, naked skin as he bandaged his ribs, when he was cradling him in his arms waiting for the ambulance after the Golden incident. Never, not in all their time together, had he once let himself imagine what it would be like to have Blair Sandburg love him. 

From the very beginning, he'd known it was imperative that Blair stay, and so he'd built a careful wall around him. It was the only way he could keep separate what he could have, Blair as best friend, partner, guide, roommate, confidante, from what he could never even hope to have. But now he could see that the wall had been in serious disrepair for some time, that it had never really done the job, had never been much of a match for the inexorable effect of all the time he spent with Blair. The more he knew Blair--all about him, his virtues, as well as his foibles--the more his sad excuse for a wall crumbled even further. 

Until finally, he'd arrived at this moment when there was nothing left to do but admit the truth to himself. He loved Blair Sandburg, with everything he was--body, mind, soul, for all that he was worth--and he had for such a long, long time. 

He could see now that forcing himself to keep that love under such strict, iron-willed control had all been a function of fear, the sick dread that Blair might feel threatened, that he might leave. He'd been so circumspect around his roommate, more than he'd been with anyone else since he finally came to the conclusion, after the mistake of his marriage, that he was gay--not bi, not experimenting, not confused-- just gay, plain and simple. 

He'd been so careful not to spook Blair that he sometimes wondered if he even realized that he dated men. Most days he thought he did, that he must have heard the gossip around the station, must have noticed Jim's responses to the men he found attractive, so very different from the way he handled the women who sometimes set their sights on him. Oh sure, in the beginning, Blair had tried to push him at women, but not lately, not in a long time. He'd reacted with such surprise when Jim had told him that Lila might have been the one. //Because I was lying to myself and to him, one final self-delusion to try to deny what's so perfectly clear. That Blair's the one, always has been, always will be. I just couldn't let myself go there, not when I thought he couldn't possibly be interested, when I believed it would only drive him away.// 

But what about now? Now, he knew Blair had been with at least one other man. At a minimum, he didn't have to worry about disgusting him. The wall had crumbled for good, and his love for Blair, his desire for him, converged with all the other ways in which he valued him--as friend, partner, family, guide. Now, he could freely allow himself to admit the forbidden truth, the undeniable reality that had been with him for so long. //I cherish Blair Sandburg. I am so in love with this man.// 

//Now all I have to do is get him back, so I can tell him.// 

* * *

The next day, Blair sat in a corner of the day room, curled up in a chair, staring out the window at the wooded park behind the hospital building, thinking that the outside world had never seemed further away or more appealing. He still had not really stopped shaking from his run-in with Ralph. He thought of how the orderly had shoved him up against the wall, hands tangled in his shirt, manhandling him, scaring the shit out of him. He kept hearing Jennifer's warning in his head, her suspicions about what this man had done to Dougie. Blair now felt like there was every chance Jennifer's suspicions were true. There had been a fury, a capacity for violence in Ralph. Hell, the man had taken _pleasure_ in terrorizing him. Rapists got off on their power. He shivered as he imagined what the sadistic bastard might have done to that poor defenseless boy, all the sick ways he could have misused his power over him. 

Blair had also gotten the distinct impression that Ralph was the director's errand boy, in charge of carrying out his orders, doing his dirty work. Ralph had nearly said as much when he'd threatened him. But still, he needed evidence. Right now, it was just his word against the other man's. It certainly wasn't enough to make a case. He needed to move quickly. Tomorrow Simon would pull him out, and if Jim had his way, he felt certain it would be even sooner than that. 

In fact, he half expected to look up and see Jim striding down the hall, coming to get him, his jaw set, not taking no for an answer. Blair knew there was no way Jim had missed the fact that something was wrong with him yesterday. Jim was a Sentinel, after all, and even if he hadn't been, he was still his best friend and knew him like no one else did. No, he felt certain Jim had realized he was petrified. Blair had seen the growing panic in his partner's face. His only explanation for why he was still at Larchmore was that Simon must have countermanded him and decided it was safe enough to leave him in place the extra two days. Blair knew, like he knew the sun would come up tomorrow, that if it had been up to Jim he'd be back home at the loft right now, safe and sound, under Sentinel protection. 

"Hey, Blair," Jennifer said, sitting down beside him. 

"Hey, Jen," he said, trying to sound normal, not really managing it. 

She frowned. "Are you okay?" she asked, reaching out to touch his arm. 

"Uh, yeah. I guess." 

She shook her head. "Try again." 

"I...well, I kind of had a problem with Ralph." 

She turned completely pale. "He didn't...he didn't hurt you did he, Blair?" 

Blair shook his head. "He just sort of got in my face about my brother demanding to see me. Said he didn't like it when patients made things difficult for the director." 

"Did you tell your brother that he'd threatened you?" 

"I couldn't." 

" _Why_?" 

"I just couldn't, okay, Jennifer?" 

"Who'd he hold over you? Me or Ritchie?" 

Blair gaped at her. "How... I..." 

"I bet it was me, huh? That's why you didn't want to tell me," she said, a speculative look on her face. She put her hand on his. "Thank you for wanting to protect me, but I wish you hadn't sacrificed so much. If your brother knew what was going on, maybe he could get you out of here." 

"I'm not leaving without you," he told her. 

Jennifer blinked back tears. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you feel this way. You're a true friend. But you can't hold yourself back because of me. There's nothing you can do to help me. Nobody can." 

"Don't say that. It's not true. There are a lot of people who want to help, who are trying to get you out of here." 

The minute the words left his mouth he realized he'd said too much. 

She stared at him. "What do you mean? How would you know?" 

"Uh..." 

"Who are you?" she demanded, her expression becoming closed, her voice suspicious. 

"I'm a friend. Stacey sent me. My name is Blair Sandburg. I teach over at Rainier. I had Stacey in my introductory anthro class last year. I also work with the Cascade PD as a consultant. My captain sent me in under cover to try to find evidence of what's going on around here, so we can blow the lid off this place and get you out of here. You and all the other kids who have been unjustly committed. My _brother_ is actually my partner, Detective Jim Ellison. He's kind of protective of me, since I'm not a cop. That's why he came back yesterday demanding to see me, probably felt like something wasn't right. Jim's got great instincts." 

Jennifer's looked stunned. "My God, I can't believe this." 

"I didn't tell Jim about Ralph, because he would have dragged me out of here right then. I'm not leaving until I have the proof we need. I only have until tomorrow, Jennifer. I need you to help me, so I can help you get out of here." 

The girl's face remained filled with surprise, and he could see her trying to process this new development, trying to regain her composure. "Of course. God. Yes. Whatever I can do. I can't even begin to tell you how it feels to know there might actually be some hope. I'd really started to think that I was never..." she broke off, her voice ragged with the tears she was holding back. 

Blair took her hand, quickly scanning the room for staff, something he'd learned to do in just the few days he'd been at Larchmore. Public displays of affection were strictly against the rules. "It's okay, Jennifer. It's almost over now. I just need you to help me figure out how we can catch them, how we can prove it. You're a very observant person. What have you noticed? Where's the chink?" 

Jennifer frowned, concentrating hard, searching her memory. Finally, she shook her head, her expression sinking into disappointment again. "I can't think of anything. I'm sorry, Blair. I just don't know." 

He patted her hand. "It's, okay. You keep thinking about it. We'll figure something out. With all the things that are fucked up around here, there's got to be something we can use. I mean, they're arrogant sons of bitches. They think nobody can touch them, so they're bound to have been careless at some point. We just have to keep our eyes open and figure out where they screwed up and how to make it work to our advantage." 

"Hey, you guys," Ritchie said, flopping down onto a chair opposite them. "Her Highness Dr. Hannigan was really on my case today about my _personal choices,_ quote, unquote. I guess I haven't been quite as convincing as I like to think with the old macho routine." Ritchie stopped when he realized both his friends had gone suddenly quiet. "Hey, did I interrupt something?" 

"Uh..." Jennifer stuttered, looking to Blair, her expression asking permission to let Ritchie in on the secret. 

"You okay, Princess? Nurse Ratchett hasn't been giving you any trouble, has he?" 

Jennifer shook her head. "No. Actually, Blair's the one he's been bothering." 

"Are _you_ all right, Curly? He didn't...he didn't do anything to you, did he, honey?" Ritchie asked, as grave as Blair had ever seen him. 

"No, no, Ritchie, he just hassled me a little, gave me a hard time because Jim insisted on seeing me. He didn't try anything. He just wanted to scare me." 

Ritchie let out his breath in relief. "God, that's good news. Geez, you really had me worried there for a minute." 

"Ritchie, there's something I do need to tell you," Blair said. "I haven't been entirely honest with you. I'm not a college student. My brother didn't have me committed. I'm working with the police. Stacey told us what happened to Jennifer, and we wanted to see if we could find a way to help." 

Ritchie stared at him amazed and then began to laugh. "Curly, honey, you're not seriously trying to tell me you're a cop, are you? 'Cause there's just no way. Forget the hair and the earrings. You just don't have that...whatever that edge is. Now you've gone and made old Ritchie here have to worry that you really are cracking up." 

"You're right. I'm not a cop. I'm an anthropologist. I teach over at the university. I'm working on my dissertation that has to do with the police department, and I've been with the Major Crimes unit as an observer while I'm doing the research. My captain let me come in under cover because I've had experience working in mental institutions, and since I don't have that edge, I blend in better." 

"Oh, my God! You _are_ for real, aren't you?" Ritchie asked, sounding stunned. 

"Yeah, man, I am. And I need your help so I can get you and Jennifer and all the other kids who don't belong in here free of this place." 

Ritchie continued to gape at him, trying to take it all in. Blair waited for him to get over the initial shock. He expected the boy to be relieved once he'd gotten used to the idea, to be happy or impatient or nervous about what would happen if they got caught before they could gather the evidence they needed. He never would have predicted that he'd be angry. 

"That's just great!" Ritchie said, his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes bright and hard. "You just go and lie to me like that, _Blair,_ make me believe you understand what I'm going through. Make me think I've found another friend, like I have in Princess. And it's all a big act." 

"Ritchie, Blair's here to help us," Jennifer said, trying to soothe him, trying to make him understand. 

"No, Princess. He's here to help _you,_ to help you get back to the life you left behind, to make sure you get to go home to your girl who loves you. I don't _have_ a life to go back to. There's _nobody_ out there waiting to welcome me with open arms. There's just my Pops who's never gonna accept that his namesake's a prissy little queen who isn't going to be following in his macho, beer-drinking, football-playing, pussy-loving footsteps. And there's my Moms who never says a word or lifts a hand to help me when Pops goes to town beating my ass, 'cause it's _for my own good._ Why even _go_ home? When I'm always going to be the little faggot nobody loves?" 

Ritchie's lower lip trembled. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand. 

Jennifer put her arm around his shoulder. "You _know_ that's not true. You know _I_ love you, for just exactly who you are. I'd never want you to be anyone or anything else." 

Ritchie's voice became very soft. "You're the only person I ever had that really felt like family. You're the only person who really _cares_ about me. When we leave here, I won't have _anybody._ I don't want to go back to being all alone." 

Jennifer frowned. "But we'll still be..." 

"No! We _won't_. You got a life with your girl. What are you gonna need me around for? I'll just bring up bad memories." 

"No, you _won't_. You'll remind me that even during the worst moments of my life there was someone who befriended me, who helped me, who kept my spirits up, who made sure I went on fighting, who took _care_ of me. My friends mean the _world_ to me. You ought to know that by now. I would _never_ turn my back on you. You're right that I am going back to my life with Stacy, but you'll be a part of that too. You're my _family_. I _love_ you. That will _never_ change." 

Ritchie looked torn, still worried, but more hopeful than before. "That's...I wish...but Stacey won't want..." 

Jennifer shook her head. "You do not _know_ Stacey. Anything you did for me will be just like you did it for her. She'll love you just as much as I do." 

Ritchie stared down at his hands, suddenly shy. "Thank you," he said, very softly. 

For a moment, Jennifer forgot where she was and threw her arms around her friend, hugging him hard. "You big goofball," she said, her voice warm with sisterly affection. 

Blair cleared his throat, nervous that one of the orderlies would catch them, and Jennifer quickly pulled back. 

Ritchie rolled his eyes. "You'd expect they'd think it was good for my condition to have a pretty girl hugging on me." 

They all burst out laughing. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jennifer asked him. 

He nodded. "Yeah. Just got scared there for a minute, wondering what I was ever going to do without my Princess." 

Jennifer shook her head. "You're never going to have to find out." 

Ritchie smiled brightly. "Then I guess all that's left to do is help Curly here find what he needs so he can spring us out of this rat trap." 

"Blair thinks they must have left some kind of evidence somewhere. He was asking me if I could remember anything that might be useful. You know, anything mysterious, anything out of the ordinary." 

Ritchie snorted. "Well, everything's whacked around here. It is the nut house, after all. And as for mysteries, there are tons of them. Like what _was_ that dinner last night and how did we all live through it? Where'd the art therapy go just when I was getting so good with that modeling clay? Where'd they find that prick Ralph and why are we the ones locked up while he's still running around free. How come I hardly ever see my therapist--not that I'm complaining, mind you--when I'm supposed to have therapy twice a week? You know, honey, there are more mysteries here than we can ever begin to solve." 

Both Blair and Jennifer snapped to attention. 

"Of course! That's it!" Blair said. 

"We'd still need evidence," Jennifer reminded him, but the light in her face belied her cautious words. 

"What?" Ritchie wanted to know. 

"They must keep records. Double records," Blair said. 

"Hey, wait, I bet I know where they are. When I first got here, the director gave me a so-called evaluation, and as I was coming into his office, he was just locking up a drawer in that chest on the side wall, the one that looks like a curio cabinet." 

"Yeah, I remember that. You could be right." 

"But do you really think they'd keep stuff that would incriminate them?" 

"What _are_ you two talking about?" Ritchie demanded. 

"Insurance fraud," Blair said. "And yes, I do think they'd keep records of it. Like we were saying before, they don't think they're ever going to get caught. They'd want to know how much they're getting away with. They're just that greedy, just that arrogant." 

"But how would that help us?" Ritchie wanted to know. "Even if the cops come swarming around here and arrest the whole administration, we'll still be stuck in here." 

"Hopefully not. An insurance fraud scandal would cast doubt on everything that goes on around here. My real hope is that we can get Dr. Hannigan on our side when the truth comes out. I honestly don't think she's involved in the fraud." 

"No way, Curly. Her Highness gets her panties in a twist if the things on her desk aren't lined up so straight they look like she used a ruler. The lady does _not_ like a mess." 

"Definitely too straitlaced," Jennifer agreed. 

"She has to have some inkling that the patients are being short changed, but she's been turning a blind eye to it, trying to go along to get along," Blair speculated. "In her heart she must know it's wrong to keep people here simply because they're gay. But she has such strong personal convictions on the subject she lets it override her professional judgment." 

"That's probably why Thompson hired her," Jennifer said. 

"Yeah. That would make sense," Blair said. 

"So what do we do?" Jennifer asked. 

"Not we," Blair asserted. "Me. I can't have you guys involved in this past the planning stage." 

"Now hold up there a minute, honey. We're all in this together. Like the three Mousketeers." 

Jennifer smiled. "I think you mean Musketeers." 

Ritchie shook his head. "You have your fantasy, honey, and I'll have mine. I'm not much for wearing tights, but I'd look real cute in those ears," he said, batting his eyes. 

Jennifer rolled her eyes. "You are _just_ incorrigible." 

"Incorrigible is cool. But I can't let you be foolhardy," Blair said. "There's no way to do this other than to break into the director's office. Time's running out, so it's got to be tonight. If I get caught, I can tell them who I am, and the cops will come to my rescue. You guys don't have that luxury. I don't want you in here at their mercy. God knows what they'd do to get back at you." 

"You're going to need help," Jennifer said, matter-of-factly. "And we're the only ones you can trust." 

"Yeah, honey," Ritchie said. "You ever stop to consider how you're going to get off the dormitory floor and over to the administrative wing when Nurse Ratchett will be stationed by the only exit?" 

"Or how you're going to get into the director's locked office and the equally locked cabinet?" Jennifer asked. 

"I can pick a lock," Blair said. "Don't ask." He held up a hand, forestalling any questions about how he'd come by such knowledge, not wanting to go into the employment histories of some of the more questionable members of the Sandburg clan or how they'd gladly shared their special skills with him. 

"What are you going to pick it with?" Jennifer asked. 

"Uh, well..." 

"See? You do need our help." She carefully looked around and then slipped her hand inside her shirt, into her bra. "Here," she said, pulling out a hair pin, handing it over to him. 

"You're not supposed to have that. Where..." Blair started to ask. 

She waved her hand at him. "Don't ask. Let's just say I hoped it would come in handy some day." 

"Thanks," Blair said. "It really will." 

"Hold the phone there, Curly. You've still got to get past our friend Nurse Ratchett." 

"Yeah, Ritchie's right," Jennifer said. "That could be a tough one. Not to mention dangerous. I know you said you'd just tell them who you really are if you get caught, but somehow I don't think that's going to stop that neanderthal. He _likes_ to hurt people." 

"I'll just have to make sure he doesn't catch me." 

Ritchie smiled, looking very pleased with himself. "For that, you'll be needing a distraction, honey, and I know just the guy for the job." 

"And the girl," Jennifer insisted. 

"Goes without saying, Princess. You and me, we're a team." 

"I don't know you guys..." 

"Honey, you might as well go ahead and throw in the towel. In a battle of wills, you are no match for me and Princess." 

"So when do we do it?" Jennifer asked. 

Blair sighed, realizing he was beaten. He also knew that his plan would have a far greater chance of succeeding with their help. He'd just have to make sure nothing went wrong, that he got the evidence he needed, so he could get himself and them out of there all in one piece. "Let's make it an hour after lights out. You guys just distract Ralph long enough for me to slip out. Don't do _anything_ more than that." 

"No problem, Curly. One distraction coming up." 

"Ralph will never know what hit him," Jennifer said, smiling evilly. 

"You guys are really starting to concern me," Blair said, shaking his head. 

"Not to worry, Blair," Jennifer said. "This is the only fun, not to mention the only shot at freedom, we've had in an age. You can count on us. We're not going to screw this up." 

* * *

//God, how do I get myself into these things? Who do I think I am? Freakin' Rambo?// Blair sat on the edge of his bed, his heart pounding despite his best efforts to calm down. //I can do this. I can do this.// He chanted it over and again in his mind like a mantra, but it didn't quite do the trick. //Jim's right. I should leave this shit to the cops. This is the last time. Just this one last adventure, and I'm sidekick boy from here on in.// He nodded his head earnestly, for a minute or two, before finally breaking out in a nervous grin and rolling his eyes. //Yeah, right. Blair, old son, you may as well face facts. There's no going back to the merry-go-round for you, not without you kicking and screaming the whole way.// 

He squirmed and twitched, nervous and impatient. //Where the hell _are_ they?// He sighed heavily and began to wonder if perhaps something had happened to prevent Jennifer and Ritchie from staging the diversion. He was just starting to get worried when he heard it, their voices raised and argumentative, around the corner, getting louder all the time. He smiled. //There they go. Now I just have to hope it keeps Nurse Ratchett occupied.// 

Blair stood by the door and pressed his ear against it, listening for the squeaky sounds of the orderly's rubber-soled shoes to pass by his room. He didn't have to wait long. The squeaking moved quickly by him and around the corner to where Jennifer and Ritchie were pretending to have a knock-down, drag-out fight about who had the better fashion sense. 

He slipped out of his room and carefully made his way down the hall, keeping an alert eye out for Ralph. The plan seemed to be working though. He could hear the orderly arguing with Jennifer and Ritchie, trying to get them to quiet down. As he neared the nurse's station, he slowed down and flattened himself against the wall. But it was empty, the one overnight nurse on her dinner break, as Blair had thought she would be. //Thank God for budget cuts.// The door to the ward was unlocked and unwatched. He rushed through it and hurried into the adjoining administrative wing, practically running, knowing that he had no time to waste. 

He was panting by the time he made it to the director's office, adrenaline pumping through his system, making him feel wired all over, as if he were on speed, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. The door to the outer office was open, and he let himself in. It was dark and silent, deserted for the evening. He took the hair pin Jennifer had given him out of his pocket and quickly picked the lock to the inner office. The door swung open and he went inside. He felt his way over to the desk and turned on a lamp. It would have been better if he'd had a flashlight, but that wasn't exactly standard issue for patients at the facility. He just had to hope that no one would see the light coming from the window or would simply assume the director was working late. 

The file cabinet Jennifer had noticed stood against the wall to the left of the doorway. Blair used the hairpin to pick its lock. Inside were shelves that held books and some decorative objects, and below that, two drawers. They were also locked, but with cheap, flimsy locks. It took Blair only a few seconds to open them. He found a neat line of manilla file folders in both drawers, each with the name of a patient on it. He picked out his own folder and flipped it open. He sifted through the papers. There were copies of Dr. Thompson's evaluation, along with Dr. Hannigan's, results from the battery of tests they'd put him through when he was first admitted, daily charts showing what treatment he'd received, nothing out of the ordinary. 

Blair was seriously beginning to think he wouldn't find what he was looking for. Perhaps they _weren't_ stupid enough to keep records. It was even possible that there was no insurance fraud at all, that his suspicions were misplaced. He was almost ready to give up, return the file and race back to the dormitory before he was found missing, when he realized there was something folded up and clipped to the back of the folder, concealed beneath a psychiatric report. He pulled it loose and began to read. His heart sped up with excitement. It was a detailed record of everything the insurance company had been billed for, similar to the daily chart he'd found, but nearly five times as long. He couldn't decipher all the codes, but it was clear that the hospital was charging for drugs, therapy, supplies and so many other things he'd never received. 

He dug out Ritchie and Jennifer's files, as well, and found exactly the same thing. He stuffed all three charts beneath his shirt, closed the drawers and shut the cabinet. He hurried over to the phone on the director's desk and dialed the number to the loft, nervously tucking his hair behind his ears. Now all he needed was to get a hold of Jim. He had the proof they needed to help Jennifer and Ritchie, and he could finally go home. 

The phone rang, once, twice, three times. Sometimes, when Jim was home alone and not particularly in the mood to talk, he screened. //Come on, man, pick it up.// The answering machine had just clicked on when a shadow loomed in the doorway. 

"Put down the phone, Mr. Ellis," Dr. Thompson ordered. 

Ralph was with him and crossed the room in three long strides. He grabbed the phone away from him and slammed it down. The guy wrenched his arm and jerked him away from the desk. 

"Just what do you think you're doing in here?" Ralph demanded. 

"I...I, uh," he stuttered, his heart racing wildly with fear. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have. I just wanted to talk to my brother. I needed to tell him how bad I feel for everything I've put him through." 

"Oh, yeah?" the orderly said. "Then what's this?" 

He yanked up Blair's shirt and pulled the file folders out of the waistband of his pants. 

"Tsk, tsk, Mr. _Ellis._ That really won't do," Dr. Thompson said. "You realize, of course, that patient files are highly confidential. We can't have just anybody getting into them." 

"I...um..." Blair said, tongue-tied, starting to sweat. 

"You know, I begin to think you're not quite who you said you were. In fact, suddenly you remind me of someone who caused me a great deal of trouble a number of years ago, someone I never actually met, who was still quite a thorn in my side nonetheless. Like you, he was a busybody who didn't know when to mind his own affairs. We don't like people like that, do we, Ralph?" the director asked. 

"No, sir, Dr. Thompson. We're not at all crazy about troublemakers." 

" _Thompson_ ," Blair said, putting the pieces together. "Oh, God." 

"That person got off rather easily way back when. He just lost his job. That's not really such a big deal, is it, Ralph?" 

The orderly snorted. "Pretty lax, if you ask me." 

"Yes, I thought so, too," Dr. Thompson agreed. "But it was a first offense. I suppose it's good to give a person a chance to learn his lesson, let him off lightly the first time and hope he has sense enough not to do it again. It's really a shame you didn't do that...Mr. Sandburg, isn't it?" 

"You won't get away with this. I'm working with the Cascade police department. The best thing you can do is turn yourselves in before you make the situation any worse." 

"No, I don't think that's at all the best option for us. You know, it's a funny thing about mental hospitals. They can be really quite dangerous, what with all the unstable people who reside in them. Sadly, unfortunate accidents do occur. It really is a terrible shame, isn't it, Ralph?" 

The orderly nodded his head and smirked. "Tragic, doc." 

"We have a number of patients being treated for paranoid delusions," the doctor told Blair. "Most of them have never been violent, but you never know when one of them just might snap. It would be so easy for such a person to imagine all kinds of things. Say, for instance, that another patient, a known homosexual, was coming onto him, making lewd, unwanted advances. It wouldn't be hard to understand how that could lead to a violent mishap. The paranoid patient probably wouldn't even remember what he'd done. That's not unusual for someone who suffers from delusions. It's a tragic possibility, but unfortunately, these things do just happen. And wouldn't it be even more tragic later on to find out that the victim wasn't even a patient, but an undercover police officer. I can't even begin to tell you how bad we'd feel about that, how hard we'd work to make sure the paranoid lunatic who'd committed the offense never got the chance to harm anyone else ever again." 

"You'll never get away with it," Blair said, with much more bravado than he actually felt. 

"You know, I really think I will. Not that there won't be any suspicions, but they'll never be able to prove anything. The patient I'm thinking of is so lost in his fantasies he'll easily believe he did it and confess to anything I suggest to him. You'll be out of my way, and I'll be free and clear. Just a little work straightening up these files, and no one will ever be the wiser." 

"Help! Somebody! Help me!" Blair started screaming. 

"Ralph, it seems Mr. _Ellis_ is becoming agitated. Why don't you walk him down to the isolation room and take care of him." 

Ralph roughly took hold of him, fingers digging into the tender flesh of his upper arms, and started dragging him from the room. Blair grabbed onto the side of the desk and held on with a strength borne of terror and desperation. The orderly started to pry his hands away, and Blair kicked at him, trying to keep him at bay. Finally, though, Ralph was simply stronger and managed to yank him loose, half throwing him across the room toward the door, back to the outer office. 

"No! Help! Help me!" Blair yelled at the top of his lung, hoping someone, anyone, would hear him. 

He clung to the door frame and continued to scream. Ralph pulled and punched and kicked at him, trying to dislodge him. 

"Really, Mr. _Ellis._ This unseemly display isn't going to help anything. Just go along with Ralph like a good little patient." 

"No fucking way, man!" Blair said. "Somebody! Help me! Anybody!" 

"What on _earth_ is going on here?" asked Dr. Hannigan, as she rushed into the room. "Ralph, you're terrifying the patient. Dr. Thompson, how can you allow him to brutalize Blair this way?" 

Blair had never been so glad to see anyone in his entire life. He thanked every deity he could think of, including a few he probably just invented. 

"Christine, I didn't realize you were working late tonight," Dr. Thompson said, managing to sound completely casual. 

"I was trying to catch up on some case files. What is all this about, Dr. Thompson?" 

"I'm afraid Ralph and I found Blair in my office. He'd snuck off the ward, was able to break in somehow. We found him going through patient files. When we caught him, he became highly agitated and began ranting about conspiracies and people out to get him. This is precisely why I wanted him admitted. I'm afraid his condition is far more serious than I'd originally hoped was true." 

"No, Dr. Hannigan, _please._ Don't believe him. My name is really Blair Sandburg. I'm working with the Cascade PD, investigating criminal activity here at the hospital. I found evidence of widespread insurance fraud. Please, you have to help me." 

"See what I mean, Christine? Poor Blair is suffering from paranoid delusions. Ralph was just trying to help me get him back to his room. I'm sure you can understand how concerned I am for his safety." 

"Now, just come on, Blair, and cooperate with me," Ralph said, in that false voice of his, smooth and professional, effectively covering up the psychopath within that had been so painfully evident just a few minutes beforehand. "Let's get you back to bad." 

"No! Dr. Hannigan, please! They're going to kill me for what I know and try to say that a patient did it. You've got to call the cops." 

With a determined tug, Ralph managed to pull him free of the doorway and then hustled him out of the room. 

"Please, Dr. Hannigan!" he begged. 

"Try not to be so upset, Blair," she told him. "They're just trying to do what's in your best interest. You'll be given a sedative and restrained for your own good, just for a day or two until you're calmer. You'll see. Everything will be better soon." 

Ralph pulled him out the door and into the hall. 

"You know things aren't the way they should be around here," Blair continued to scream, hoping somehow to convince the woman. "You know something's wrong. You know I'm not crazy. You _have_ to help me. You _have_ to call the cops." 

Blair felt a gun pressed against the small of his back, and his panic escalated. Ralph dragged him all the way down the corridor, around the corner and through the doors into the treatment wing. When they were well out of earshot, in a deserted stretch of hallway, the orderly threw him up against the wall, banging his head, trapping him there with his body. Blair could feel the cold, lethal metal of the gun against the back of his neck and the man's hard on pressing into his hip. 

"I guess I'm gonna get what I wanted after all. Yeah, sweet thing. Before I take care of you like I promised the doc, we're gonna have a little fun, you and me," the man said, reaching around with his free hand to grab Blair's cock and balls roughly through the fabric of his pants. 

Blair cried out, but that only made the man squeeze his genitals harder. His groin throbbed with pain, and his whole body shuddered with terror. He could feel the orderly's breath, hot and humid and repulsive against the side of his face. 

"If I use a rubber, they'll never be able to track it back to me. They'll probably just think you've been acting like a slut since you've been here, giving up your sweet ass to anybody who wanted it. I wish I didn't have to do it, though. Use a rubber. 'Cause I got to tell you there's nothing I'd like more than to leave my cum up that tight little hole of yours. You like the thought of that, sweet thing? You ready for one last fucking before you say goodnight? Huh, pretty boy cop? I sure hope so, 'cause it's gonna be the fucking of your life." 

Ralph pushed him forward, toward the isolation room. He stumbled and nearly fell. The orderly grabbed him by the back of the collar, opened the isolation room door and pushed him through it, following him inside. The sliding of the lock into place was the most god-forsaken sound he'd ever heard. He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer, a single word. //Jim.// 

* * *

It was after eight that night when Jim finally made it home. He'd spent the day crammed into a tiny room, not much bigger than a closet, with Reynolds, another cop from Major Crimes, doing surveillance on suspected drug runners. The whole situation had given him more reasons than he'd needed to be in a foul mood. Reynolds was a talker, a _big_ talker, something he could usually tune out. But today he'd found it inescapable and way beyond annoying. Reynolds was no scholar, and his observations never strayed too far from sports or the weather. He certainly never ventured into such colorful territory as the influence of the war chant of the Yanomamo headhunters on Seattle grunge music or the sensual rhythms of the priestesses of Oshun. Still, the way Reynolds rambled on had been just enough like Blair to be a constant, nagging reminder that his partner wasn't with him. 

It didn't do anything to improve his outlook on life that he'd needed to contort his body like a pretzel in order to keep watch out the one small window. His shoulders ached, and there was a kink in his back that would certainly be with him into next week. Reynolds had accidentally knocked over his soda, and it had gone all over Jim's pants. The fabric had stiffened as it dried, and it had irritated his skin all afternoon. The tiny bit of air they'd gotten in the room had been stale and uncomfortably warm, and so of course, he had one monster of a headache. To top it all off, he now smelled really rather bad to his own sensitive nose. 

He didn't have the energy to bother with dinner. He was too tired to eat anyway. He trudged into the bathroom, stripped and took the longest shower in loft history. Now that he finally recognized his true feelings for his partner, a part of him was tempted to beat off as he stood there beneath the hot spray, reveling in happy, sexy thoughts of Blair, in anticipation of his return home the next day. But he was too exhausted even for that. He closed his eyes and let the comforting warmth seep into his cramped, fatigued muscles, until he'd used up the very last of the hot water. 

He got out, toweled off and pulled on his bathrobe. After a quick tour of the apartment to make sure everything was secure, he headed upstairs. He pulled on a clean pair of boxers and slipped beneath the covers. He settled into a comfortable position and was instantly asleep. 

Dreams soon followed, and in them, it was a lovely spring day. He could hear the sweet music of nearby songbirds and the melodic, reedy whistle of the wind rustling through the leaves and twigs of the surrounding trees. Jim lay on his back, more relaxed than he'd been in his life, staring up at the mild blue arch of the sky. He could feel the grass, lush and cool, beneath his shoulder blades, and the sun, filtered by the thick cover of branches, fell warm and mottled on his skin. 

A soft sigh came to him, and he could feel another body stirring beside his, unstartling, familiar. He turned onto his side and found Blair there, smiling lazily up at the sky, his expression sun-dazed and serene. There was a delicate scent of honeysuckle in the air. Blair smelled dark like fertile earth. 

"Chief?" 

"Mmm." 

Jim wanted, but he could not put words to his desire. He fell silent, momentarily stalled, though not giving up. It lent his quiet an air of anticipation that captured Blair's attention, and he rolled over to face him, eyes bright and curious. 

"What, Jim?" 

He didn't so much hear Blair's words, as watch them form on that bountiful mouth, and then he knew what he wanted. Blair blinked and waited. Jim touched a strand of his hair, humid and clinging haphazardly to the side of his face. He delicately brushed his friend's cheekbone with the flat, smooth bed of his thumbnail. Blair shivered, despite the day's pleasant heat. 

"Please?" Jim asked. 

"God, yes." 

He leaned forward, narrowing in on Blair's lips, which were parted and newly moistened, out of nervousness. They were warm even before he touched them, then soft, then warm again, until finally they felt hot, sweltering. Blair opened his mouth in wet, delighted welcome, and Jim was suddenly lost, dizzied. If this disorientation had come from any other source, he would have pulled back immediately, until he regained his bearings, needing to have that control. But this was an erotic befuddlement, and he found he didn't at all mind being lost in Blair, their tongues sliding slickly together, bodies pressed intimately against one another. 

They fell out of their clothes, fluidly, effortlessly, without any of the petty annoyances that so often got in the way in actual time and space. Finicky zippers, too many buttons, stubborn jeans that simply refused to be peeled off eager legs...none of these things existed in Jim's dream. In the space between blinks of an eye, he and Blair were sharing delicious nakedness, entwined and ardent on the tender grass. 

Every caress was a benediction: every nudge of a knee, brush of fingers, feathery whisper against eager skin, every determined exploration, every hopeful attempt to please, every sweet, hesitant touch that begged for more. It was all so easy and unquestioned. In his dream, Jim communed with Blair. He gathered sacred knowledge of him. He gave freely of himself, outside of fear. He loved Blair, with everything he was, the way he'd always wanted. 

It was truly engrossing, and that was why he failed to understand how he could possibly have taken his attention away from Blair, even for a second. But somehow, in that jumbled, inexplicable way of dreams, he did look away, for just the briefest moment. Perhaps there was a bird flapping its wings in the trees or someone approaching. It was never clear. But when he regained his focus, returned to what was really important, Blair was gone, and he was lying naked and cold on the unforgiving ground, all by himself. 

He leaped to his feet and scanned the woods with Sentinel eyes. But there was nothing. He tried smell and hearing, but still he could find no trace of Blair. He was trying to adjust, to shake off the disorientation, to figure out how he could track his love when the world turned on end, his senses expanding wildly, knocking him backward with the force of their sudden intensity. 

When he could open his eyes again without being completely overwhelmed, he was standing in the dense shadows of the Peruvian jungle. The new power of his senses did not diminish; if anything, returning to the place where he had first regained them as an adult only intensified their already formidable strength. With the rush of his senses came the sharp insinuation of instinct, and he let it guide him, push him forward, a little tentatively at first, but then faster and faster, until he was ripping through the underbrush, single-mindedly pursuing his mate. 

He could feel the leaves and branches lashing his sides as ran. The ground was uneven, but somehow he knew this terrain too well to stumble. He ran faster. Everything blurred for him into one overriding intention: to find Blair. Every nerve ending in his body strained with the effort of taking in as much information as possible. The world tilted again, and this time he found himself closer to the ground, on four legs, dark-furred and coiled with power, the essential Sentinel. He surged forward, unleashing the speed of his new body, flying off after his lover. 

His body twitched with all the input assaulting him. The primitive parts of his brain sorted through it automatically, discarding the normal jungle sounds, the scents of other animals. Until finally, there it was, Blair's scent. His nose quivered, the familiar smell tickling along his whiskers. He launched his sleek, powerful bulk in the direction of his mate. 

Then he heard it. His ears pricked up, instantly alert. He knew that sound, and the knowledge sank heavily into the pit of his stomach, making him feel sick. Jackals. Heading for Blair. He tore off even faster, desperately determined to reach his lover first, even though he knew the jackals had a head start. The branches cut into him as he raced through the thick undergrowth, but he didn't care. His only thought was to protect his mate. 

When he heard the first high pitched shriek of the jackals, a sound they made only when about to attack, he knew he had failed in his sacred responsibility. They had reached Blair first, and they were moving in for the kill. He only hoped his love could hold them off until he got there. He ran faster still. 

The fighting soon started. He could hear the tearing of flesh, the dull thud of falling bodies, the wild thrashing as they fought for any advantage, the jackals' shrill cries, his lover's low, throaty growls of warning. He could smell blood and fear and determination. He could feel death in the air. 

Finally, he broke into a clearing, and at the other end of it, his wolven lover thrashed on the ground, two jackals ripping at him with their deadly, rapacious teeth, as he valiantly tried to fight them off. There was blood on Blair's silvery fur, and he could tell from his lover's increasing sluggishness that he was growing weak. He let out the most ferocious snarl he was capable of, and both jackals snapped to attention, completely surprised to find him there. One, the leader, immediately turned and ran, too smart to contest Jim for his mate. But the other, perhaps anxious to prove he was more than a follower, faced off against him. 

It was the last decision and the last moment of his life. Jim, frantic with worry for his critically injured lover, had no time to waste on him. He leaped, a tautly muscled three hundred pound force of rage. He landed on the jackal and handily broke its neck, crushing its windpipe, killing it straight away. Jim abandoned his vanquished foe there on the damp mossy ground, the jackal's pink tongue lolling in its slack mouth. He rushed to his lover's side. Blair whimpered, a pitiful, heart-breaking sound. His thick fur was ripped and battered, soaked in blood. Jim crouched beside him, licking his face to comfort him. 

His vision sparkled, and once more, the world shifted on its axis, disorienting him. When his eyes cleared, he was human once again, and his senses were back to normal. He quickly pulled Blair, also restored, into his arms, onto his lap. Blair's back was crisscrossed with lacerations, torn and bloody. There were long scratches on his arms and legs, a wound to his belly. He held his lover tightly against him, brushing the hair back from his face, frightened out of his mind. For one terrible moment, he really thought Blair might be dead, but then he heard the sluggish gurgle of his breathing, the faint lub-dub of his pulse. He shifted Blair's body, to be able to see his face, desperate for some sign that he was conscious and aware. 

But even as he moved him, Blair remained still and silent, a deadweight in his arms. When Jim finally managed to get him turned over, the fear in him turned arctic and enormous. Blair's eyes were the deadest things he could ever have imagined finding in a living face. A low throbbing cry came pulsing along the floor of the forest, as if the jungle itself were in mourning. 

"No!" he wailed in grief, jolting himself awake. 

His chest heaved, and he was damp with cold sweat. It took him a few seconds to understand where he was, that he had been dreaming, to figure out that the noise from his dream was actually the phone ringing. He heard the answering machine click on, and then his own voice floated up to him. He wiped his hands over his face, trying to get the residual fear under control. Then he got up and went downstairs. The beep sounded, and there was a second of silence before whoever it was hung up. The dial tone blared loudly, hurting his ears, and he jabbed at the button on the machine, muttering curses. He shook his head, still feeling unnerved, and went into the bathroom, to throw some cold water on his face. 

Even after that, he still felt profoundly off balance, like something was just really, really wrong. //What a fucked up dream.// He was no stranger to nightmares, and he'd grown adept at shaking them off. But not this one, not this time. //I know I'm worried about Blair, but this is nuts.// 

Then he thought again of the hang up on the answering machine. He dropped the towel he was using to mop his face and bolted back out to the living room. He rewound the message and listened again to that moment of silence, focusing his Sentinel hearing, filtering out the static and the incidental mechanical noises, just as Blair had taught him. He rewound and listened again, and again. Finally, he was able to zero in on the faint voice in the background. He couldn't make out exactly what was said, but he did clearly discern the name "Ellis." He also recognized the voice--Dr. Fred Thompson. 

Perhaps it took him a minute to get dressed and then he was out the door, on his way to save his partner. 

* * *

Christine Hannigan listened to Blair's screaming protests until the last faint echo died away. She had an unbearably sick sensation in the pit of her stomach. 

"Well, Christine, I know that was difficult, but at least we can rest assured that we're doing the right thing by the patient," Dr. Thompson said. 

Christine nodded, hesitantly. Something wasn't right. She knew that. She just didn't know what to do about it. 

She tried to keep her expression neutral. "I'll need to revise my case notes significantly," she said, trying to sound professionally interested, rather than sick with worry, which was how she actually felt. 

She began to back away toward the door. 

"Tonight?" Dr. Thompson asked. "Surely, it can wait until the morning." 

"I had some thoughts just now. I wanted to get them down while they're still fresh in my mind." She smiled at her boss, hoping he'd believe her. 

She hurried back to her office and shut the door. She sank down onto her chair, propped her elbows up on the desk and buried her head in her hands. She had the worst headache of her life. It was impossible to pretend any longer. All the inconsistencies, all the causes for hesitation came surging back up from the black bottom of her memory where she'd relegated them. There were so many: staff who were never replaced because there wasn't enough money in the budget, diagnoses that made no sense, patients who didn't appear to need psychiatric intervention, and worse yet, patients who did need it and didn't seem to be receiving adequate care. All the while, the hospital just seemed to be getting richer and richer. She'd seen the way Dr. Thompson lived. She'd wondered how he could afford to attend all the conferences and seminars he did, many of them out of the country, always on a first class basis. 

And then she remembered what Blair had said, as he was being dragged down the hall, that he was really with the police, that he'd found evidence of fraud, that they were going to kill him for what he knew. She thought about the way Ralph had manhandled him, the bruising grip on the young man's arm, the hard way the orderly's eyes had glittered. 

For a moment, she really thought she was going to be sick. Instead, she frantically grabbed for the phone and dialed 911. She was so thoroughly focused on getting help that it nearly scared her to death when the phone was unceremoniously yanked out of her hand and slammed down. 

"It's a little late to be making calls, isn't it, Christine?" Dr. Thompson asked, his normally impassive face now completely frozen over. 

She'd never seen anything more terrifying. Then she noticed the gun in his hand, and she had to revise that opinion. 

"Why?" she asked, unable to believe that this was the same man who lectured so convincingly on the sacred responsibility of the psychiatric profession, who enjoyed a national reputation, who had been her mentor. 

"Because I can, Christine," he said. 

"So is it just about money?" she asked, her voice thick with disgust. 

He laughed at her. "You say that as someone who's never had the advantages that come with financial means. Otherwise, you'd know there's no such thing as _just_ money." 

"We're talking about people's _lives._ " 

"A few months out of a few lives here and there. That's all. No one's being hurt in any substantial way. We feed and clothe them. We give them time to consider their lives. It's not such a bad deal when you consider it objectively." 

She stared at him in horrified disbelief. "What are you saying? What kind of monster are you?" 

He shrugged. "I'd say I'm the one holding the gun. That's all you really need to know." 

"Why did you hire me?" she asked, tears in her eyes, her voice choked. 

He considered her. "The truth? You were so very easy to control, Christine, so eager for my good opinion. You would always discount your own analysis in favor of mine. I could get you to second any diagnosis I made. That was very convenient for me. Of course, there was also your crusade against homosexuals. That proved handy on numerous occasions." 

She colored hotly. "What?" 

"You're a bigot, my dear. You know good and well that homosexuality is not a valid reason to confine patients for care, and yet, you let patients' sexual orientation affect your judgment every time." 

"No. I--" 

"Yes. These may well be your last moments. As a psychiatrist, you know the importance of being honest in establishing a sense of closure." 

"I never meant to hurt anyone," she insisted, her voice rising desperately, the tears flowing. 

"Yes, well, you know what they say about good intentions." 

She sobbed softly. 

"All right, Christine. Come along now. I'm afraid there's about to be a terrible accident. A patient out of control, attacking another patient, who turns out to be an undercover police officer. A dedicated young doctor trying to save the day. Sadly, both young people losing their lives. It will make quite the headline." 

She shook her head, still crying. "Please, don't do this, Dr. Thompson. You're a _physician,_ for God's sake." 

"Unfortunately, if I want to remain a physician, then I _have_ to do this. Let's go. We'll need to join Blair and Ralph in the isolation room, see what kind of progress they're making." 

"No. Please." 

He grabbed her by the arm. "You _will_ do as I say. Now come _on_!" 

He yanked her roughly up from the chair and dragged her across the room, toward the door. 

"Stop! Help!" she screamed. 

"Shut _up_!" he warned her. 

Christine was not really certain what happened next. There was a quick blur, the sound of an impact, and suddenly Dr. Thompson's death grip was gone from her arm. She looked down to where the man lay sprawled on the floor, blood on his face. Another man stood over him, panting, his face red, seemingly from rage. 

"Where is Blair?" the man demanded. 

"Are you with the police?" she asked. 

"Yes, yes, I am. Detective Jim Ellison," he told her, quickly whipping out his ID. "Blair's also working with us. It's crucial that I find him." 

"Dr. Thompson had Ralph Wilson, one of the orderlies, take him to the isolation room. It's down the hall, make a right, through the double doors into the next wing, then straight down the first corridor." 

"I need you to call for back up," he told her. 

She nodded. He took out a pair of handcuffs and efficiently fastened one of Dr. Thompson's wrists to a nearby heating pipe. He picked up the gun and handed it to her. 

"Watch him," he told her. 

"Hurry, detective. I think maybe... You need to get to Blair before Ralph hurts him." 

She watched the policeman's expression turn bleak. 

"Call for an ambulance too," he said and sprinted off down the hall. 

* * *

Concluded in part three.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Why Go Home

by Annabelle Leigh

Author's webpage: <http://internetdump.com/users/fictionbythesea>

Author's notes and disclaimer can be found in part one. 

* * *

Why Go Home? - part three  
by Annabelle Leigh 

Jim tried to stay calm. He tried not to dwell on the horrific images from his dream that kept crowding back to him. He tried to hear Blair's voice in his head, centering him, keeping him focused. He followed Dr. Hannigan's directions, down the halls, through the glass doors. As he grew closer, he could hear Blair's heartbeat, racing with terror, and then he heard the orderly speaking. 

"You know this is what you've been waiting for, you little fag. You like a good hard cock up the ass. I bet that's why they picked you for this assignment, huh? They knew you'd be convincing 'cause you're such a sweet piece, 'cause they know just how much you love taking it up the butt. You ever let the other cops do you? Huh, pretty boy? I bet down at the station they all know first hand just what a fantastic fuck you are. Oh yeah, and now I'm going to find out too. I'm going to give it to you good, pretty boy cop. I'm going to use that tight, hot little hole of yours. I'm going to use it good and hard and long, like it belongs to me. You hear me, fairy? I said your asshole belongs to me now. And I like to play rough with my property, boy. Oh yeah, get ready, sweet thing. I'm going to show you what it's like to have a real man fuck you." 

Jim's mind couldn't help but flash forward a few moments into the future. He pictured Blair, exhausted and brutalized, his body torn and bleeding, the honey sweet voice that played constantly in Jim's head like music hoarse from screaming, Blair's lovely face etched with pain and humiliation, red from crying, a few final tears trembling on the smoky lashes, the beautiful blue eyes no longer warm and sparkling with light and life but...oh God, deadened, just like in the dream, the Blair he knew and loved with all his heart shattered, destroyed, gone forever. 

Jim ran flat out the last few yards and kicked in the door, adrenaline making him strong enough to leave it swaying on its hinges. Blair lay on his belly on a bed, spread eagled, lashed down, his clothes stripped from him, ripped and haphazardly discarded on the floor. The orderly from the other day knelt on the bed between Blair's naked thighs, his pants unzipped, his cock out, hard, covered with a condom. He was holding Blair's ass cheeks wide apart, obscenely exposing him. There was a demented expression on the man's face, lust and sadistic glee, as he paused a moment before beginning the rape, prolonging Blair's panic and terror, drawing it out, enjoying himself thoroughly. 

The noise of Jim's sudden appearance caused the man to freeze, and in that instant, Jim's senses went wild. The sour scent of Blair's fear filled him with an almost uncontainable rage. He could also smell the thick, sickening stench of the rapist's arousal. It became stronger whenever Blair cried out or struggled against the restraints, the monster getting off on his terror and helplessness. The edge of Jim's vision began to blur, the hold on his rational mind loosening, his modern self disappearing into the mists of a primitive rage. 

"NOOOOOO!!!!!!!" It was not the cry of a man, but the furious, howling protest of a jaguar whose mate was in danger. 

Jim coiled his body and lunged, with all the power and viciousness of an outraged beast. Blair's would-be rapist never knew what hit him, could never have guessed that it was two hundred pounds of protective, ferocious, mortally pissed off Sentinel. Of course, the man didn't exactly have time to consider the question, since Jim fell on him in a fury. He knocked him off the bed, away from Blair--his Guide, his best friend, his beloved, his mate--the incendiary rage only gathering force when he saw the fingermark bruises on Blair's arms. 

"HURT!!!!!" Jim bellowed, making only the most basic kind of Neolithic sense. 

He aimed a fist at the rapist's jaw and landed a quick, sharp kick to the guy's vulnerable, exposed groin. The man screeched in shock and pain, clutching his privates, doubling over, sinking to the floor. Jim drank in the sound, his caveman's brain finding a pleasing justice in it. 

"MINE!!!!!" he yelled, claiming Blair for his own, although the man was hardly in any condition to contest for him. 

But Jim wasn't satisfied with that degree of victory. He could still feel the resonance of fear, Blair's and his own, along with his deep sense of outrage at what had almost happened to his mate. 

"MINE!!!!" he reiterated, although the rapist was hardly arguing. 

Possessiveness and primitive fury propelled Jim, making him grab the man by the collar, dragging him back to his feet, pummeling him with blows, screaming that Blair was his all the while, undeterred by the sight and smell of blood or the feeling of bones shattering beneath his fists, lost in a blind, primal rage that was the mother of all zoneouts. 

"Jim! Jim!" The sound was like an insect buzzing around his head, vague, persistent, distracting. "Jim! Stop! You're going to kill him!" 

The realization began to sink in that it was his mate's voice, although the specific words, even his own name, meant nothing to him. Still, his mate was calling to him, apparently needed him. And the threat...well, that had definitely been neutralized. He released his opponent, watching him sink to the floor, whimpering, bleeding, vanquished, and he quickly turned his attention back to his beloved. 

His mate arched up against the restraints, his head thrashing wildly, face red from straining. Jim swept his senses over him and found his heartbeat still out of control, his breath coming in quick and shallow gasps, the muscles rigid and tense, a residual smell of fear and agitation clinging to him. 

He had only one overwhelming impulse: to comfort. He climbed onto the bed, half covering his mate with his larger body, stroking him tenderly, reassuringly, running his palm lightly down his love's arm, along his side, caressing hip and flank and thigh. He rested his head on his mate's shoulder and made a low keening sound in the back of his throat, not language exactly, but still rich with nuance and meaning. 

The sound spoke of Jim's sick fear at what had almost happened, of his terrible regret that he had not been a better protector, an abject sorrow that he had ever allowed his beloved to fall into enemy hands. It was also the sound of soothing and comfort, assuring his mate that all was well now, that he was safe, that nothing in the world could hurt him with his Sentinel defending him. As he felt his chosen one relaxing under his gentling hands, it told the tale of Jim's endless love for him, the greatest, most tender truth of all, that there was nothing he wouldn't give him, do for him, sacrifice, lie, cheat, steal, kill for him. Nothing. 

"Come on, big guy. Follow my voice back. I know you can do it. It's okay now. I'm okay. You saved me. So come on back. Please, Jim. I need you to untie me. My arms and legs are numb, and my back hurts. Come on, Jim. I need you, man. I need you aware and fully functional. Okay? Can you do that for me, Jim? Please?" 

The primal veil began to lift. The thousands of years of evolution that had been lost slowly returned. Jim lifted his head, very much confused about what had happened, about how he'd ended up clutching his partner's naked, bound body. He jumped up from the bed. His memory of the past few minutes was spotty at best, and the last thing he clearly remembered was that bastard's hands on Blair, poised to...shit! He had no recollection of actually stopping him. He didn't know if...shit! He ran his senses over Blair in a panic. There was no blood on his partner's backside. He didn't smell pain, only the last stale whiffs of fear. The rapist's scent still lingered on him, but there was no odor of cum. He looked into Blair's face, into his deep blue eyes, and saw there confusion and surprise and uncertainty, but no look of violation, no shame, nothing deadened. //Thank God. Thank God.// 

A low moan of pain behind him made Jim whirl around, his protective instincts still itchy and ready for a fight. The bastard who'd tried to hurt his partner lay crumpled on the ground, covered in blood, his arm bent at an awkward angle, suggesting it was broken. Jim felt a wave of pain in his hands and looked down to find the knuckles bruised and scraped. 

He turned back to his friend. "Blair?" he managed to say, feebly, his brain still dim and confused, begging for an explanation. 

"He wanted to rape me. You had other ideas about it. Jim, man, can I get some help here? I _so_ don't want to be tied down to this bed anymore." 

That finally jumpstarted Jim's reason and spurred him to action. "Yeah, Chief. Sorry. Here, let me get you free." 

He took care of the restraints in short order, and Blair sat up, shaking out his arms and legs, wincing at the pins-and-needles of returning sensation. 

"Thanks for the rescue, man. I am _so_ glad you showed up when you did." 

The recently-returned-from-the-Stone-Age Jim struggled to catch up, to make sense of what he saw before him: Blair stretching his cramped muscles and complaining about the draft in the room, Blair alive and well and unchanged, Blair all in one piece, Blair unviolated. It was more than he could contain within himself. He gathered his friend into one hell of a ferocious hug, so glad he was all right, not caring, actually not really registering, that Blair didn't have on a single stitch of clothing. When he felt the slender arms go around his own waist, he hugged his Guide even tighter, tears in his eyes. 

"It's all right now, Jim. You saved me. It's all right." The low, sweet voice whispered against his ear, making him shiver. He felt his Guide pulling back, and he let him go, reluctantly. 

"Jim? Could you...you know, find me some clothes somewhere? Mine are kind of totaled," he said, looking down at the strips of cloth that had once been his shirt and pants. 

"Oh, sure, Chief. Yeah. Right," Jim said. But he didn't move. He just stood there staring at his Guide, drinking him in, not really wanting to leave, not even for a minute. 

"Could you hurry it up, man? It's freezing in here. Clothes. Please. Now." 

His Guide's insistent tone brought him back to himself. He went in search of something for Blair to wear, finally remembering about backup, wondering where the hell it was. A few doors down, he found a locker room and borrowed an orderly's uniform. He brought the clothes back to Blair and couldn't help hovering while he dressed, although the chivalrous thing would have been to give him some privacy, to at least turn his back. But Blair seemed to understand and didn't make an issue of it, quickly pulling on the shirt and pants while Jim kept watch over him, as if expecting an enemy attack at any moment. 

"Okay, let's get this mess sorted out so we can get the hell out of here. I am _so_ ready to go home." 

Blair sounded anxious to leave, but basically all right, matter-of-fact even. But when he slid off the bed, his knees started to buckle. Jim rushed to catch him, and he could feel the tremors running through his body. He realized that Blair must still be in shock, that he hadn't really processed what had happened. For that matter, neither had he. //Blair was nearly raped.// He shuddered, and a fresh wave of protectiveness overtook him. He tucked Blair against his side, bearing some of his weight, sharing his body heat with him, offering comfort, silent and physical, the only way he knew how. 

He led Blair out of the room, wanting to leave all that behind them forever. He kept his arm wrapped around his partner, and they walked down the empty hall, back toward the administrative offices. 

Blair looked back over his shoulder. "I guess we should... I mean, we can't exactly leave him there." 

"Backup's on the way, Chief. An ambulance too." 

"Did you... Was that for me?" 

Jim tightened his grip on his partner's shoulders. "I didn't know what I'd find," he admitted, his voice half choked. 

A sound of pure animal fear escaped Blair. Jim could feel him shudder. Blair's hands scrabbled at his shirt, and he buried his face against Jim's shoulder. 

"It's okay, buddy. You're okay." 

They had nearly reached the administrative wing when Simon, Rafe and several uniformed officers came racing around a corner, guns drawn. 

"Ellison! Sandburg! What the hell happened?" Simon demanded, the volume of his voice in direct proportion to how concerned he'd been for them. 

"One of the orderlies attacked Sandburg," Jim said, choosing his words carefully, not wanting to upset Blair any further. 

But Simon seemed to understand what that euphemism meant. He watched Blair closely, his worry evident. "Blair," Simon said, his voice as gentle as Jim had ever heard it. "Are you okay?" 

Blair nodded, still holding on to Jim, unable to return Simon's gaze. "Jim got there in time," he said, his voice faint, a little hoarse from screaming. "He stopped him." 

Blair fell silent, and Simon kept his attention focused on him, taking in how shaken he looked, his eerie, unnatural quiet, with obvious concern. He turned to Jim. "Ellison, I..." he broke off, but the apology was clear in his voice. 

It took a moment for Jim to decide whether he could forgive him or not. There was a part of him that wanted to blame Simon, that railed against him for being so careless with Blair. On the other hand, in many ways, he had Simon to thank for helping him come to his senses where his partner was concerned, to finally understand just how much he loved him, a gift he'd be hard pressed ever to repay. He thought about his captain's rather fatherly affection for Blair, not nearly so well concealed as he liked to think. He thought about how important it was for Blair to have Simon's faith in him. And finally Jim accepted that Simon had done what he thought was best, that he could never have known how it would turn out. He decided that no one was to blame except for Dr. Thompson and that bastard of an orderly. 

"I left kind of a mess back there, Simon," he finally said. 

Simon looked relieved for a moment that he and Jim were okay, but the relief was fleeting. "How bad?" he wanted to know. 

"I don't know exactly. He'll live. But beyond that..." 

Simon waved a hand. "I get the picture. I'll get the paramedics down there." 

"Thanks. Look, I know you need Blair to make a statement, but..." 

Simon shook his head. "It can wait until morning. Sandburg looks like hell, and frankly, Jim, you don't look that much better. Get the kid home, take care of him, take some time if you need it. I'll call you tomorrow." 

"Thanks, Simon," he said, gratefully. 

Simon nodded. "Okay, I'm going to go see just how much covering I'm going to be doing for you." 

"Uh..." 

Simon shook his head. "Don't even say it. I want to enjoy the last few moments of peace I have." 

With that, he and the other cops continued down the corridor. Jim walked Blair toward the exit. 

"Hey, Chief?" Jim said. 

"Uh-huh?" 

"Are you sure... If he'd done something to you before I got there, you would tell me, wouldn't you?" 

"Uh, I don't know," his partner answered truthfully. "But you'd know anyway. Your senses would tell you." 

That launched the Sentinel into action, and Jim ran his senses over Blair like an organic medical scanner. He sorted through the various data, and finally felt assured that Blair hadn't been hurt in any significant way. 

"Thank God," he murmured. 

He felt Blair sigh, felt the weight of his partner's exhaustion. Jim became even more anxious to get him home. 

"Let go of me! I haven't done anything wrong! Not a shot. Please! Please don't! I hate the drugs. No!" Jim heard a young woman screaming at the top of her lungs. 

Blair's head jerked up, instantly alert. "Jennifer," he said. 

Blair made a beeline for the commotion, and Jim ran after him, following his partner through the maze of doorways and corridors. They finally found an orderly tussling with a young woman whom he recognized from the photograph Stacey Walters had given them. A slightly built teenaged boy was hanging onto the orderly's arm, trying to help Jennifer escape. 

"Stop!" Blair screamed. "Don't hurt them!" 

"What are you doing out of your room?" the harried orderly barked at Blair. "Where did you get those clothes? What in the world is wrong with all of you tonight? And who the hell are you?" he asked Jim. 

Jim whipped out his badge and held it up for the guy. "Jim Ellison, Cascade PD. This man is my partner. He's been on an undercover assignment here at the hospital, investigating abuse by the administration. I'll need you to release Miss Ross and her friend." 

The orderly studied the badge. "Now, detective, I'd like to cooperate. But you don't have the authority to tell me what to do with the patients. I have procedures to follow. When they get agitated, I'm supposed to sedate them. I can't just ignore the rules." 

"It's okay, Adam," Dr. Hannigan said, hurrying down the hall to them. "You have it on my authority. They don't need to be sedated. Just let them go back to their rooms. We'll sort out this mess in the morning. New information has led me to believe that their cases need to be reviewed anyway. I'm not at all sure this is where they belong." 

Adam looked confused, but he simply nodded, following orders. "Okay, Dr. Hannigan. Whatever you say. Come on, you two. I'll see you back to your rooms." 

"Thanks, Blair," Jennifer said, her eyes wide and grateful. 

"Yeah, Curly. You really came through for us," Ritchie added and nodded his head in Jim's direction. " _Definitely_ a hero." 

Jim frowned in confusion. Blair smiled, and Jim thought he even blushed a little. 

"I'm glad I could help," Blair told them. "I'll see you guys soon. On the outside." 

Jennifer and Ritchie both smiled at him, looking expectant and relieved. They headed back to their rooms with Adam. 

Dr. Hannigan turned to Blair. "I don't know what to say, other than that I'm so sorry." 

"You'll make sure they get a fair evaluation?" Blair asked. 

She nodded solemnly. "Of course. I feel certain they'll be released." 

"Soon?" 

"Yes. As soon as I can manage it. A matter of days at the most." 

"Good." 

The woman's face twisted with guilt. "I never meant... I only ever wanted to help." 

"You let your prejudices get in the way and people got hurt," Blair said, not with bitterness, simply pointing out the facts. 

"Yes," she said, forcing back tears. "But I've learned my lesson. I've seen how my personal attitudes got in the way. I promise that I'll speak up, tell whoever takes over as director the truth about what was going on around here. I'll review the case of every patient in here. I'll push the new administration to check into the staff and get rid of anyone who's been abusive or improper. I'll do everything I can to make sure the patients get the care we promised their loved ones. I'll work with the new director to put things right. I want to make this a place where people really do get the help they need. I swear." 

Blair considered the woman a moment and then nodded. "I believe you, Dr. Hannigan." 

"Thank you," she said, with honest gratitude. "Well, I'd better go see to the patients. There's been a lot of turmoil tonight, and I'm sure it's been upsetting. Goodnight, Blair. Detective Ellison." 

They watched her walk back up the corridor, looking tired but determined. 

"You know, it really is true that the most dangerous thing in the world is for good people to do nothing," Blair said, sounding defeated and more than a little disillusioned. 

Jim frowned, concerned. "That may be true, Blair. But it's also true that plenty of good people _do_ care and _do_ get involved. I'm standing here with a perfect example of that." 

"Thanks, man," Blair said, but his voice still sounded hollow and lost. 

"Hey, buddy, you ready to go home now?" 

Blair nodded. 

"Good." 

Jim put a hand on his friend's back, guiding him to the exit and out to the truck, more relieved than he could ever have imagined to be taking Blair home, where he would be safe and cared for and cherished. 

* * *

It felt like he'd been away forever. That was Blair's first reaction when he stepped through the door into the loft. Immediately he found himself looking around for anything that might have changed in his absence, even though he knew, of course, that this was ridiculous. It had only been a matter of days, even if each one had seemed like a century. He stood for a moment in the middle of the room, eyes closed, letting it wash over him, the familiar smell, the weird rattle of the refrigerator, the way the rug felt beneath his feet, the small things that signified home. Each one felt like a benediction. He was the very definition of relieved. 

Blair could sense his Sentinel hovering, watching him, letting him acclimate a little before coming over to him. He soon felt a light touch on his shoulder, and he smiled. The hand hesitated a moment, as if it might pull away, but then it settled there, a solid weight of comfort. 

"You must be tired, Chief." 

"Could never sleep in there." 

"That's not too surprising. Why don't you go take a shower? Then have something to eat and go to bed." 

He nodded, yawning, the full measure of his exhaustion finally hitting him, now that he was home and it was safe to feel it. "Good idea," he mumbled sleepily and shambled over to the bathroom. 

"Jim?" he said, before heading inside. 

"Yeah, Chief?" 

"Thanks for coming to get me." 

Jim's face broke open with some powerful emotion, but only for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was calm and even. "Any time, buddy. Any time." 

Blair smiled. God, it was good to be home. 

It was also good to take a shower in his own bathroom, as hot as he wanted, as long as he wanted, without an audience. As he stood under the steamy spray, as his muscles slowly began to relax, he realized just how tense he'd been. He squirted a liberal amount of shower gel onto a sponge and began soaping his body, thoroughly, all over, every inch. //God, it really was a horrible place.// He allowed himself to register that thought for the first time. //It scared the shit out of me. I've never felt that powerless in my whole life.// Against his will, his mind flashed back to Ralph, to when he had felt that bastard's hot breath against his neck, the way those cold-hearted hands had torn at his clothes, how mercilessly the man had grabbed and groped and manhandled his defenseless body. 

Blair had to fight down the nausea. //He was going to rape me. He was going to hurt me really badly. If it wasn't for Jim...// The sick sensation began to mutate into full blown panic. He bent over slightly at the waist, resting his forehead against the smooth tile, letting its porcelain coolness sink into him, helping to settle his nerves, as he relearned the trick of breathing. 

The knock on the door, expected and appreciated, came soon after the panic. "Blair?" Jim called, purposefully keeping his voice low and gentle. "Are you okay? Do you need any help?" 

"Nah, man. It's cool. I just..." he broke off. "I'm all right now." 

He could feel Jim's hesitation, even through the wood and plaster and tile separating them, but then finally his partner said, "Okay, but you let me know if you need me, huh?" 

"Will do. And Jim?" 

"Yeah, Chief?" 

"Thanks, man." 

He could feel Jim's smile, even if he couldn't see it. "Like I said, any time." 

Knowing his Sentinel was watching over him made Blair feel more solid somehow, like a fortress, defended and secure. He ran his hands over his skin, slowly, deliberately, therapeutically, washing away the soap, visualizing that he was also scouring away the last toxic vestiges of the would-be rapist's touch, reclaiming his skin, his body, his sense of wholeness with his own hands, letting the taint flow away from him, carried by the water, down the drain, into the sewers, out to the sea, out of his life, forever. 

He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and he could breathe again. He pulled a clean towel, cottony and fresh smelling, out of the vanity and toweled dry, taking his time, relishing the simple luxury of it. //But he didn't do it. He didn't get the chance. That's the important thing. Jim stopped him.// He wrapped the towel around his waist and went back to his room. 

Blair dug through his bureau drawers until he found his favorite ratty old sweatpants. //Comfort clothing.// He smiled as he put them on. He also put on a T-shirt and an oversized flannel shirt that he'd borrowed from Jim once upon a time and never returned. He buttoned it up, appreciating how warm and soft it was, how it made him feel blanketed in affection, friendship, safety. 

Something hearty and fragrant wafted into his room, making his stomach grumble. It drew him out to the kitchen. He found Jim by the stove stirring a pot of soup. The fixings for grilled cheese sandwiches sat on the counter. 

"Hey, that smells good, man," he said. "Just what I need. Comfort food." 

"I felt sure they didn't feed you very well in there. I just wanted you to have something good to eat now that you're home." 

Blair nodded, appreciating the sentiment. After the institutional swill he'd endured, he was more than ready for a huge bowl of Jim's special vegetable soup. He leaned against the opposite counter and watched Jim melting butter in a skillet, but he felt restless, weirdly at loose ends. He took a few steps closer to his partner and tried to settle there. But it still felt too far away. He took a few more steps, moving into Jim's personal space, brushing against his elbow. He half expected Jim to give him the look and tell him he needed room to work. But Jim must have been feeling as unnerved as he was, because he simply reached out and put a hand on his back, rubbing in light, comforting circles, helping him feel anchored to his life once more. Blair never wanted it to end. 

Jim finished preparing the meal and then surprised him by heading into the living room with their plates and bowls, turning the coffee table into a makeshift dining table. 

"Eating on the sofa? What gives, man?" he asked, following with their beers. 

Jim shrugged. "I thought we'd be more comfortable," he said, sitting down. 

Blair settled beside him, and they set to work on their sandwiches and soup. Blair was more hungry than he'd realized, despite the late hour. Or perhaps, it was just that everything tasted so good. It reminded him of home and freedom and life with Jim, all the important things, all the things he'd ached for even in just the few short days he'd been gone. He devoured his food and guzzled his beer. The sharp bite of the alcohol hit the back of his throat, and it was a form of pleasure. 

When they'd plowed through their food, Jim stacked the dishes and returned them to the kitchen, refusing to let Blair help. He could hear the tap running and the sound of the plates being settled into the soapy water. Jim took two more beers out of the refrigerator and rejoined him, not bothering to wash the dishes, leaving them to soak, something he never did. Jim handed him one of the cold, sweating bottles, and went to light the fire. The dull red-orange flames spat and flickered at first, but then grew stronger, as Jim added more fuel, stoking it until the fire blazed brightly. 

Soon, Blair could feel the comforting warmth sinking into him. He could feel himself beginning to slouch and then list and then sprawl, until he was half splayed across the sofa. The only reason he didn't fully stretch out was because he wanted to leave room for Jim. He knew he wouldn't be content to have his Sentinel even as far away as the love seat or the chair. 

Jim seemed to recognize this and squeezed into the space left at the end of the couch, lifting Blair's legs up, pulling his feet into his lap. 

"You don't have to--" Blair said, starting to move his feet. 

Jim held them. "You're fine." 

Blair relaxed, resting his head comfortably against the throw pillows. Jim began to massage his feet, rubbing them through his thick wool socks. Whatever final tension he'd been hanging onto floated away from him, and his eyelids fluttered heavily. Occasionally, Jim would pat his knee and run his hand down the front of his leg to his ankle and back to his feet again, a friendly little caress. His Sentinel seemed to need the contact as much as he did, to reassure himself that everything was all right, just as it reassured Blair. 

Blair stayed silent, a good, long while, soaking in the feeling of safe haven. He felt so reluctant to ruin his sense of calm with the ugly words he'd have to use to describe what happened. He felt Jim's patience like a physical presence in the room. He knew his partner wouldn't press him for revelations he wasn't ready to make, wouldn't interrogate him, wouldn't force him to recount the gory details. Jim was a great respecter of privacy and boundaries and things happening in their own good time. Somehow that made it easier to offer the story. 

"I didn't even have time to be afraid of dying," he finally said, his voice more shaky than he'd expected it to be, leaving him a little embarrassed. "Jennifer had told me that he'd raped another boy, traumatized him so badly he'd become catatonic. So I knew what he was going to do to me, from the moment they caught me in the director's office, even before he started taunting me with it, sounding all slurred and eager, like he couldn't wait." 

Jim had paused when Blair first started speaking, but then he resumed his massaging, keeping his hands on him, firm and kind and reassuring, keeping them connected, reminding Blair he was home now. 

"The walk down the hall to the isolation room was the longest of my life. He had the gun pressed to my back the whole time, and I could feel his breath against my face, all hot and grotesque. When we got there, he shut the door and locked it. I can't tell you how loud the bolt sounded when it slid into place, like it shook the room, like I was hearing it with your senses. He pointed the gun at me and ordered me to take off my clothes. I didn't want to, but I knew he would kill me without a second thought. I kept thinking that if I could stall long enough maybe Dr. Hannigan would realize something was wrong, maybe she'd call the cops, maybe you'd come for me. So I started to unbutton my shirt...and he was leering at me like I was some kind of peep show, and I felt so sick, like I was going to puke. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and I guess I wasn't moving quickly enough for him. So he..." Blair stopped, a hitch in his voice, vaguely ashamed, but also shaken, the terror not really gone, certainly not forgotten. 

Jim had stopped the foot massage and was simply holding onto him now, securely, diligently, like he really wanted to do a good job, like nothing had ever been more important. Blair latched onto that sensation, the feel of Jim's arms wrapped around his bent knees, the raw strength flowing from Jim's body into his. It was not a cure-all or a magic spell. It did not banish from memory the specter of the would-be rapist or drain away the reverberating fear. But it did give him the courage to go on. 

"That's when he pulled out a knife, like the ones they use in the ER, and he came towards me with it, still holding the gun on me. And I thought...I didn't know if... He started cutting my clothes off me, just shredding them, like they were nothing. Every time a strip of cloth fell away, I felt a cold rush of air on my skin where it had been, and it made me feel so...exposed. It only took him a few seconds. He was really handy with the knife, like he'd done shit like that before. And finally, I was completely naked, and he was staring at me, his eyes...they were just all over my body. I tried to cover myself with my hands, but he pointed the gun at me and made me put my hands behind my head. And then he laughed and said that I should get used to it, because I wasn't going to have anything that didn't belong to him by the time he was finished with me." 

Blair lowered his eyes, not able to look at Jim while he finished the story, not wanting his Sentinel to see his face. 

"Then he ordered me over to the bed and told me to get up on it and lie face down. I could hear the sound of the velcro as he opened the restraints and then closed them around my ankles and then my wrists. I had my eyes closed the whole time, and I began to think that I really should have fought back because dying probably would have been a lot easier than this. That was the first time I really understood that it was going to happen, that he was going to rape me, that there wasn't going to be any cavalry coming to the rescue. I'd never been tied down before...you know, like consensually, for fun, and now I realized why I'd never had any interest in that shit. There was a little bit of give, but not enough so I could really move, just so I'd wear myself out trying to struggle. And I was so scared and more angry than I've ever been in my life, and I kept trying to get loose, even though I knew I couldn't. And he kept laughing at me. The harder I fought, the more he laughed, the more he liked it. He ran his clammy, disgusting hands all over me, touching me everywhere, telling me he owned me. Then he spread me open...my, uh, cheeks, you know, and he started telling me all the things he was going to do to me. And I...I...was resigned to it, as sick as it sounds. All I could do was just lie there and wait for it, wait for him to rape me. I really thought he would, that no one would find me in time, that he'd do whatever he wanted to me and then kill me and I'd never see you again." 

By the time he finished the recitation, he had his eyes tightly closed, as if somehow that would keep him safe from the memory, from Jim's reaction. It was not exactly that he _expected_ Jim to look at him differently, as if he were less of a man, but he couldn't be sure. Maybe he _was_ different, diminished. He just didn't know. 

Jim remained quiet, but Blair felt him shifting, picking up his feet and lowering them back to the floor. The trapped door at the bottom of his heart broke open, and he felt like he was falling, sinking fast, a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach pulling him down, into a quagmire of despair. But then Jim's hands closed gently on his shoulders, urging him to sit up. When he did, Jim pulled him close, wrapping strong arms around him, a human life preserver, accepting him, still, helping him understand that being vulnerable did not mean he was diminished, at least not to Jim. 

"I'm _so_ sorry, Chief." 

It was the soft, broken quality of Jim's voice that finally made him open his eyes. He had seen Jim on the verge of tears a few times before--when Danny Choi had died in his arms, at a crime scene once when a man had gunned down his three small children to punish his estranged wife. But Blair had never thought the tears would be for him, that his pain and fear would cause Jim such abject sorrow. 

Somehow this reminded him that he had not finished telling the story, that he'd left out the most important part of all. 

"But then you came through the door, and it wasn't too late, and I've never been so relieved in my entire life," he said. 

Jim's arms tightened around him. "Me too," he whispered, cheek pressed against his hair. "I'm so sorry I ever let that happen to you." 

"You didn't. You stopped it." 

"I should have been there sooner." 

"I don't understand how you got there when you did." 

"I had a bad feeling, a very, very bad feeling. I had this dream and... Then there was the hang up on the answering machine. At first, I didn't think anything about it, but then something made me go back. I focused like you taught me, and I heard Thompson's voice. I knew you were in trouble." 

"Man, I take back every bitchy thing I've ever said about you in Blessed Protector mode. The way you looked when you came through that door..." 

"When I saw what he... I guess I kind of lost it." 

"Tell me about it. You beat the shit out of the guy. Never saw you _that_ pissed off before." 

Jim stiffened. "I wanted to kill him," he admitted. "I think maybe I would have if you hadn't stopped me." 

"And I think maybe I would have let you, if doing it wouldn't have hurt _you_. That bastard..." His voice broke. "That bastard was going to _rape_ me. God knows how many defenseless people he's destroyed in the past or how many more he would have gone on to brutalize in the future if you hadn't put an end to it. If it hadn't meant that you'd end up in prison or unable to live with yourself, I think I could have watched you kill him and been nothing but relieved. God, that must make me a really bad person." 

He felt Jim shake his head. "Only human, Chief. And that's more than I can say for myself when I went after him. I felt... I don't know really, like something very primitive." 

"Do you remember much?" he asked. 

"Not really. Only flashes of sensation. The smell. The feel of my fist...well, you know." 

"I think I can imagine. Do you remember anything you said?" 

"I could talk?" 

Blair smiled against Jim's shoulder, amazed that he could find anything funny. "Only sort of. It was more like grunting. Classic caveman behavior, real throwback stuff," he teased his Sentinel, and it made him feel lighter, more normal, deeply relieved, in an odd way. "You did manage to scream that I was hurt, which apparently upset you." 

"If he'd really hurt you, I _would_ have killed him. I can't say how I know that. I just do." 

Jim's voice was fiercely matter-of-fact, and it gave Blair the courage he needed to ask the next question. 

"You also said I was yours. You kept saying it, in fact, like it meant something. Did it, Jim?" 

His ear was pressed to Jim's chest, and he could hear his heart racing. 

"I felt...it was like he was trying to take something away from me. It wasn't just that he was going to hurt you, which was bad enough. But I also didn't want him to have you that way. I didn't want anyone else to... Shit! That makes it sound like...and I wouldn't. You know I'd never, never, not unless..." 

"Unless I wanted it. What if I did? What if I wanted that with you?" 

Blair held his breath waiting for the answer, and fear clenched his heart when Jim gently but firmly extricated himself from his embrace, pushing him back a little, so he could look at him. 

"Blair, there's something I have to tell you before we get into any of that. It might change how you feel. I don't know. So I need to come clean with you. I did something...something wrong...while you were in Larchmore. I could tell you my reasons, that I was really worried about you, that my instincts told me there was more going on with you than you were willing to admit. And all that would be true. But it was still wrong. And I _am_ sorry." 

"What, man?" 

"I pried into your life. I investigated you. And I found out about David." 

He gasped. "Jesus, Jim." 

"I know. And God, I'm sorry. But I was going kind of crazy. I just needed to know." 

"How'd you find out?" 

Jim looked down at his hands, unable to meet Blair's eyes. "I went to the hospital where you worked and used the badge to get a look at your employment records. I knew you would think it meant I didn't trust you, but..." 

"You couldn't help yourself." 

Jim shook his head. "I saw that you'd been fired, but there weren't any details. So I asked around and found a nurse who'd been there back when you were. Terri Haskins." 

"I always liked her." 

"Yeah, she liked you too. Said you were a good kid. Anyway, she told me the story. The real story." 

"And then you knew." 

"Yeah, then I knew. I finally understood why it was so important to you to go undercover, even though I could tell it was hard as hell and there was a part of you that didn't want to do it." 

"I always felt like it was my fault," he admitted. "If I hadn't gotten involved with David, he wouldn't have ended up in that terrible place. It made me reconsider... I mean, Naomi taught me that all kinds of love are beautiful, but after that, I just wasn't so sure anymore." 

"It wasn't your fault, Chief. You have to know that." 

"His parents thought it was. God, did they ever hate me." 

"Then they must have been narrow, blind, ignorant people." 

"You didn't know me back then. I was young, and I could be really self-involved. I got very enthusiastic about things and people and wanted stuff very ferociously and thought it was right to go after whatever caught my eye. Like David. But it...it killed him." 

"It didn't kill him, Blair. He killed himself. Maybe he couldn't accept who he was or maybe he couldn't live with his parents' disapproval. But _you_ didn't do _anything_ wrong. He made all his own choices. And we're all self-involved when we're young, Chief. But you were still you, with all your good qualities, the first and foremost of which is that you care very deeply about other people's feelings." 

"I should have paid better attention to how David felt." 

"No, Chief. That's what his parents should have done. I know it's really late and you've already been through so much today. But do you want to tell me the rest of the story about you and David?" 

Blair sighed. "I don't know. Not really. Although I guess I should." 

"You always tell me it helps." 

"Sometimes I really do talk too much." 

Jim smiled, but then said, "You don't have to, not now. We can save it for another time." 

"No. I want to tell you. It's just that it's hard, you know? It really hurts." 

"I know." 

"Terri told you I tried to break him out?" 

"Yeah." 

"Then you also know I wasn't successful and got fired. So I had no contact with him for a couple of months. I went to his parents' house once, just to ask how he was. Big mistake. You can imagine how they reacted. Threatened to call the cops if I ever came back. So I left. And I _didn't_ go back. I really tried to put it out of my mind, seemed like the only way to hold myself together. I can't tell you how bad it makes me feel to say that. I _abandoned_ him in that place, that horrible, horrible place." 

"Do you think Stacey abandoned Jennifer?" 

"No. Of course not." 

"So how come it's different with you? You tried to help just like she did. The only difference is that she got lucky. She found someone who cared enough to go way out on a limb for her and Jennifer. You didn't have _anyone_." 

"That makes sense logically, but it just doesn't make me feel better, you know?" 

"I know, Chief." 

"Even without my help, David did finally get out, after I don't know how many months. I never found out how he managed to con his way out of there. Or maybe the insurance just ran out. That's what Ritchie said. He was one of the kids I got to know at Larchmore, the one with Jennifer tonight. He said that all the kids would just be miraculously 'cured' when the insurance money ran dry. I didn't even know David had been released until I happened to run into him one day at the mall. He was with his parents, and he said some things to me...well, let's just say I've never forgotten them." 

"What things, Chief?" Jim asked, the protective tone returning to his voice. 

Blair hesitated, not quite certain he wanted Jim to hear these ugly things, not when there had already been so many ugly things that day. 

He lowered his head. "He called me a pervert. He blamed me for turning him into something unnatural, against his will. But I swear, Jim, I never tried to force anything on him. I thought he was as into it as I was. God, I swear." 

Jim touched his face, lightly, a gesture of comfort and belief and connection. "Of course, Chief. I know that. I know _you_. You always want everyone to be comfortable and happy. I know you cared about David, and I'm sure he cared about you. But being in that place messed with his head. And he was with his parents that day when he said those things. He was probably worried about being sent back if he wasn't the perfect picture of rehabilitation." 

"Yeah. You're probably right. But God, it still hurt, Jim. It really, really hurt." 

"I'm so sorry, Blair." 

"I never told anybody about it. Not even Naomi. I felt so guilty and ashamed." 

Jim stroked his shoulder. "That's a lot for a kid to handle all by himself. That's a long time to carry around a burden like that." 

He'd been so careful not to cry, but now the tears were welling up and he couldn't keep the sound of them out of his voice. "I'm glad I told you." 

Jim pressed a kiss to his head. "I'm glad you told me too. Thank you." 

"It was Thanksgiving when he did it." 

Comprehension dawned on Jim's face. "That's why you never like to celebrate," he said. 

Blair nodded. "He used his father's carving knife. I guess it was a message to his family. I hadn't tried to call him or see him after that day at the mall, but then when he...I was just so sorry I'd stayed away, like I'd really let him down. I should have... Maybe I could have..." 

Jim shook his head. "Don't do that, Chief. I know it's only natural, but please, don't. You weren't the cause of his death, and you couldn't have done anything to stop it. The way I look at it, you were the only one who _didn't_ let David down." 

"You don't have to say that to make me feel better." 

"I'm not. You know me. I always tell you everything plain out. You didn't fail David. There was just no way for you to save him." 

"In a way that makes me feel better, and in a way, it doesn't." 

"Yeah, I can understand that. It's always going to be sad, Chief. There's just no help for that. But I wish...I wish you hadn't had to carry it around with you all these years. I hate the thought of your being alone with all this heavy stuff. I hate the thought of your being so young and going through shit like that with nobody there for you." 

"Ever since then, I've had this terrible fear that anyone I got involved with would turn on me one day. I completely wrote men off as a possibility. Way too afraid to go there again. But even with women, I was always just a little uneasy somehow. I mean, David loved me and then he hated me. And I didn't understand why. I just never wanted that to happen to me again." 

It made him feel shaky to admit all this, things he'd never said out loud before. 

But there was nothing but understanding and conviction in Jim's voice as he said, "I will never turn on you , Chief. I will never deny you. And I will certainly never hate you." 

"Are you sure?" he had to ask. 

"Very sure. And I've been sure for a long time now." 

"I just never thought..." 

"So you never knew?" 

"Not really, never even considered it until recently. There were some things that started to make me wonder, the way you'd look at me sometimes or touch me. But still, it didn't seem possible that you were..." 

"Gay? I really did think you'd figured it out. I know I never came out and said anything. But still... I wasn't trying to hide it. I don't want you to think that. I just never wanted to make you uncomfortable. So I didn't flaunt it." 

"I thought...well, I don't know what I thought." 

"That I had the least active love life in the history of the world maybe? That I was impotent or had bad breath or some terrible disease that kept me from getting dates with women?" Jim asked, smiling. 

"No!" he said, squeezing Jim's arm. "It's just like you were really selective, you know? Like you couldn't be bothered wasting time with anybody who wasn't going to be _the one_. You're not at all casual about stuff like that. After I understood that about you, it never seemed weird that you didn't go out that often or talk about women you were interested in. I figured I'd just get a wedding invitation one day, and that's how I'd find out you'd fallen in love with somebody." 

"That would have sucked. Of course, I'm not sure this way is any better. You could have been killed in there or..." 

"Wait. So you're saying..." 

"Yes. Always have. From way back at the beginning." 

"Why tell me now?" 

"Because I'm an idiot who wouldn't let himself see the handwriting until I'd almost lost you. I promised myself I'd tell you as soon as I got you home." 

"I don't know, Jim. I want to believe... But you got scared for me. You're glad to have me back. That doesn't necessarily mean... I just need to make sure..." 

"I love you. I always have. I always will. I missed you while you were gone. Apart from the danger and my worrying about you, I just missed you." 

The tears threatened again. "I missed you, too. And I love you. I promised myself too, that when, if, I got out of there I'd tell you. I wouldn't waste any more time being afraid. It's just that..." 

"What?" 

"I worry that it could happen again. I mean, not exactly the way it did with David, but the same result. You'd be taken away from me." 

"That would never--" 

"The department is just like David's parents. There's no way the people down there are going to want you to be with me. And it's _dangerous_ to be a gay cop. I don't want to lose you." 

His hand began to tremble, and it made him feel weak all over again. But Jim simply reached for him and held his hand, long, capable Sentinel fingers curving warmly around his. 

"First, you're not going to lose me," Jim said. "Because no matter what happens, I would choose you. You're the most important thing in the world to me. You have to know that by now. And second, I've been a _gay_ cop as long as I've been on the force. Now granted, I was in some serious denial for part of the time. I mean, look at my travesty of a marriage. But in the past couple of years, I've lived my life as a gay man, an extremely discreet gay man, I grant you. But I go to the bars. I've dated guys. I haven't sent everyone down at the station a memo, but I haven't tried to hide it either. And I'm not saying that there might not be problems. Maybe there would be. Being out can be tough. Being in a relationship with someone who also works in the department might prove even tougher. But that brings us back to point one, that I'd always choose you. If it got unbearable, we'd make a change. The department is _not_ my parent. It has absolutely no power over me, because I can always quit and move on." 

"But I wouldn't want you to..." 

Jim held up a hand. "That's only a worse case scenario. And it would be worth it." 

"I...." 

Jim ran his thumb lightly, lovingly from his hairline to his temple, and down the side of his cheek to his chin, absorbed, as if memorizing the topography of his face. "Take a chance on us, Chief," he whispered, his voice urgent and filled with want. 

No one had ever sounded like that before, like he was some kind of erotic pinnacle, a wet dream come true. Blair shivered. This was everything he'd ever wanted, laid out before him like a banquet, his for the taking. All he had to do was move beyond his fear, to realize that Jim was not David, that Jim was his own man, impossible to intimidate, about as far from a scared college student as a person could get. He thought about how stubborn his Sentinel could be, how he always honored his commitments. If Jim promised to choose him, then that's exactly what he would do. With that realization, he finally felt the tremendous burden of all those years of guilt and regret beginning to lift, the fear dissipating, the need building. 

Blair moved closer, running his hands up Jim's arms, reveling in the sheer power of that miraculous body, that was his now to touch, his to pleasure. He brought his lips to Jim's. But then he paused a moment, feeling Jim's breath, deepened and anticipatory, on his sensitive skin, allowing Jim to feel his, moist and trembling with excitement. He knew the moment would pass in a blur if he didn't stop to appreciate it, their first kiss. He needed to remember it, always, wanted to be able to wrap himself up in the warm cocoon of it during the inevitable bleak moments life would throw at him, a safety blanket of recollection. 

When it was vividly set in his memory, he leaned forward and completed the connection, mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue. It had been a long time since he'd kissed somebody he loved. He'd forgotten how much more it could be, not merely a tease or a perfunctory prelude, but a distinct pleasure, in and of itself, something to luxuriate in, to savor. It surprised him how curious he could be about another person's taste, how joyously he could relish the freedom to return again and again to complete his discovery. 

For so long he'd found a sense of safety in neglecting the subtle delights in favor of the blunt ones, pursuing gratification to the detriment of erotic awareness. It had been forever since he'd lingered in someone's arms, simply kissing, feeling himself getting hard by degrees, completely in tune with each upward spiral of his desire. He'd forgotten all about that dizzying, expectant feeling, like waiting for lightning, as he lost himself in someone's mouth, someone who loved him in return, whose love had gravity and would leave its mark on him. 

Or perhaps he'd never known these things before now, before Jim. 

It didn't really surprise him that he couldn't match mundane flavors to Jim's taste. Jim wasn't cotton candy or pears, French toast or almonds. He wasn't merely sweet or salty. He couldn't be reduced down to anything as simple as tart or savory, peppery or mild. Jim tasted like virtue. He was wholesome, refreshing. He tasted like loyalty and perseverance, with more than a hint of devotion. He was exactly the flavor of forever. 

"Blair," Jim said, between kisses, because Blair wouldn't let him go, wouldn't let him stop. 

"Mmmm." 

"We don't have to do this." 

"Hmmm?" 

If Blair had been willing to take time away from their kissing, he would have said that there were really only a few things in life a person _had_ to do, stuff like death and taxes. Most things were pretty optional. A few select things were pretty much a foregone conclusion. Making love with your soul mate certainly qualified as one of those. Of course, Blair _wasn't_ willing to take time away from their kissing, so he hoped Jim would figure it out for himself from the determined way he continued to devour his mouth. 

"It's just that you've been through a lot today. I don't want to push you. I don't want it to bring back anything..." 

Blair finally paused, to catch his breath and reassure his Sentinel. "You won't. You couldn't. I want you. Please." 

He dove back in. 

"Mmmm. Just want to make sure," Jim said, against his lips. 

Blair reached for his hand and entwined their fingers for a moment, then guided Jim's hand to his lap, to his erection, the most convincing proof of his desire. 

"Oooh," Jim groaned, into his mouth. 

Jim stopped talking then and threw himself back into their kissing whole-heartedly. He left his hand on Blair's cock, not stroking, not teasing, just feeling him, his heat, his need. It shot blistering, electric needles of want all through Blair's body. He doubted he'd ever been harder in his whole long history of hard-ons. 

"Would you come upstairs with me?" Jim asked, still kissing. 

"Yes," Blair answered, also not stopping. 

"Now?" 

"Yes." 

They did finally have to detach from one another, long enough to make it up the steps to the bedroom. Fortunately, it was a quick trip. At the top of the stairs, Jim turned and hugged him. It was warm and affectionate, the way a best friend would hug him. It was hot and provoking, exactly what he wanted from a lover. 

"I've wanted you up here for forever," Jim said, sounding a little choked up. "Thank you," he whispered against Blair's ear. 

No one had ever thanked him before. No one had ever wanted him enough to bother or even to think of it. It had been an emotional day, and he suddenly felt like crying. But it was a good kind of teary-eyed, like he sometimes felt when he couldn't believe his own good luck. 

Jim pulled back and kissed him on the forehead. "I love you." 

"I love you, too," he said, trembling with the truth of it. 

Jim smiled. It wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before, and he was an expert. He'd cataloged every crook of Jim's lips, every grin, every half-smile, every beam of pure pleasure--with a zealousness he didn't feel even for his favorite anthropological subjects. He shivered with the thrill of discovery. This smile was naked and kind, a little shy, filled with secrets, but ones about to be shared. He had the distinct impression that he was the first one ever to see this smile and also that he would be the last. Warmth flashed through him at the thought, that something this beautiful belonged to him and only him, because he was Jim's lover, no one else, just him. 

Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and waited for him. He took a step forward. His feet were hesitant, and that was not at all what he was expecting. He tried to take another step, but now the hesitation had mutated into paralysis and he stopped, despite his will. He sighed. He should have known that the first flush of freedom would give way sooner or later, that he would have to deal with the baggage before he could give himself over to loving Jim. It just surprised him that the thing holding him back had nothing to do with the attempted sexual assault that happened only hours ago, but had everything to do with the man he'd tried not to think about for the past ten years. 

He couldn't help but remember how it had been with David in the beginning, not so very different from this, before it all got so ruined. 

Jim watched him for a moment, then stretched out on the bed, on his side, leaving room for him. He held out his hand. "Just let me hold you." 

Blair smiled. He could always count on Jim to come up with a simple but perfect solution. 

His feet unfroze, and he joined Jim on the bed. Jim tucked him close, one arm curved around his head, the other draped over his body. He rubbed his arm in warm, comforting circles and stroked his hair. Blair lay there quietly a long while, and Jim was content simply to hold him and let him think. 

"I wish this were the first time," he finally said. 

"It is." 

"I mean ever." 

"That stuff...it can't touch us." 

"I wish it were that easy." 

"Let me show you how easy it can be." 

It took Blair a moment to consider that, and then he nodded. "Like it's all new," he said. 

Jim kissed him. "Just like it's the first time," he promised and kissed him again, more thoroughly. 

It _was_ the first time anyone had loved him with such care and indulgence. It _was_ the first time he'd been equally as patient, wanting, actually needing, to take his time, to rush nothing, to lose none of the small moments, none of the subtlety. Jim held him and kissed him. They were both still fully clothed, and it reminded him of youth, when being close like this was the prize, not simply the first step to more adult intimacy. He relaxed into the warmth and security of the embrace. He was still hard, and he could feel Jim's erect cock pressed against his thigh. But it was still a manageable kind of need, not desperate, not yet. They could afford to linger, to explore, just kissing and holding hands. They could splurge on simple, sweet affection. 

Jim undressed them both, slowly, one piece of clothing at a time. He took off Blair's flannel shirt and his own sweat shirt, and they got to know each other's arms. Blair could never have imagined that the skin on the inside of Jim's wrists could be so baby soft, but it was, tender and sensitive. He caressed it and could feel Jim's pulse thundering beneath his fingers. The hairs on the back of Jim's arms felt crisp, and the hollow of his elbows were warm. Jim's biceps flexed when he touched them; he'd never imagined having such coiled strength beneath his hands, could not have predicted how hungry and powerful it would make him feel. 

They pulled off their T-shirts and touched each other's chests. Jim lovingly stroked his sides and then ran a hand between his nipples, down to his belly, playing in his hair. Blair appreciated Jim's smoothness, the skin firm and flawless. He laid his hand flat against Jim's stomach and enjoyed how warm and soft it felt, how rock solid the muscles were, how they trembled as he stroked them. He walked his fingers up Jim's torso and circled them lazily around the nipples. He teased, until Jim begged prettily enough, and then he fingered them, making Jim beg even harder. Quid pro quo seemed to be Jim's motto, because he reached for Blair and gently pinched his nipples. Blair cried out in pleasure, and Jim did it again and again. 

Blair didn't expect to feel shy when it came time to take off their pants, but his hands shook and he fumbled as he tried to untie the drawstring of his sweats. Jim kissed him and took care of it, getting them both naked with startling efficiency. Then he leaned back a little, so they had room to look at each other. 

Blair sucked in his breath. It had been a long time since he'd been able to indulge his appreciation for nude male beauty, and Jim was nothing if not beautiful. It wasn't the easy, young kind of loveliness that David had possessed, that had left Blair so starry-eyed. He wasn't under any illusions about Jim's body. He knew exactly what it could and could not do. He'd seen its power and its vulnerabilities. He'd been amazed watching Jim leap and vault, sprint and tackle, perform miracles with his senses, all in an average day on the job. But he'd also held Jim, dazed and blinded when he'd been exposed to Golden. He'd brought him out of a zone more times than he could count, had tended him through illness and injury. Jim's body wasn't a fantasy, and Blair's reverence for it was borne of knowledge and experience. That made finally being able to feast on Jim's nakedness all the more poignant. 

Added to that was the utterly carnal experience of feverish Sentinel eyes raking over him, an exploration as palpable as any caress. He began to breathe harder, and his need, which had been a dull ache, grew exponentially more urgent. 

"I looked," he found himself admitting. 

Jim smiled. "So did I." 

"I mean before, that time when I walked in on you when you were coming out of the shower. I looked." 

Jim laughed. "I know. And that time on the rig, too." 

Blair blushed. "I guess I wasn't so subtle, huh?" 

"I still didn't think it meant anything. I guess that doesn't make me too bright." 

"Denial." 

"Yeah. I suppose that's what it was." 

"I'm glad that's over now." 

Jim smiled, and it was _the_ smile, the one that belonged only to Blair. "Me too," he agreed. "Would you do something for me?" 

"Yeah. Sure. Anything, man." 

"Would you touch yourself?" 

Blair wasn't expecting that, and he shuddered with the unforeseen delight of it. "Yeah, man. Yeah. If you will, too." 

"I wouldn't want to get left behind, Chief." 

Blair took his cock in his hand and watched Jim do the same. He was out of breath and more turned on than he'd ever been in his life. He began to stroke himself, teasing a little, before really getting down to business. He stared while Jim pleasured himself and stored away that precious knowledge, the strokes his lover liked best. 

"You don't know how gorgeous you are doing that," Jim told him. 

"Can't be half as beautiful as you are." 

"Could we--" 

"What?" 

"Could we switch now? Can I touch you, Blair?" 

"God, yes. Please." 

Once more, he was rewarded with the special smile. Then Jim put his hand on him, and he had to close his eyes, afraid he would come right then if he didn't. It really did feel like the first time, like his cock had never been touched before, because Jim had never touched him. He shook as Jim began to explore him, skillfully, imitating the things he had done to himself. Apparently, he had not been the only one watching and learning. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated on the amazing things Jim's wickedly talented fingers were doing. It was only Jim's desperate little whimper that finally made him open his eyes again. He found his lover looking at him, pleadingly. 

"Blair," Jim murmured, his voice raspy with need. 

"Sorry, man. Sorry." 

He put his hand on Jim, and then his Sentinel began whimpering in earnest. Jim's cock was beautiful, so hot, so hard, throbbing in his hand. The combined sensation of touching Jim and being touched in return was almost more than he could handle. He'd thought about it, dreamed about it, fantasized about it for so long, and now he was finally living it. 

They were getting close, and they both knew it. Jim rolled over onto his back and pulled Blair on top of him. Their slicked cocks nestled against each other, and Blair gasped through his teeth, every nerve ending in his body electrified by the sensation. Their need had long since outgrown their control, and they began thrusting against each other, a little wildly, instinct setting their rhythm, nature driving them toward completion. 

Blair held onto Jim's arms with a death grip, leaving bruises. Jim's big hands cupped his bottom, guiding him. And it really _was_ the first time. He'd never made love with a man before, he realized that now. He and David had both still been boys in so many ways. Their couplings had always been a little tremulous, a little unsure, beautiful but in a coltish sort of way, their bodies still awkward and gangling, still tentative in their pleasure. It was not at all the same as the mature, robust loving of grown men. It had not made him feel anything like what he felt with Jim, the sheer miracle of their solid male bodies moving confidently against one another, understanding what they both wanted, knowing exactly how to get it. 

Blair would have loved for it to go on forever, was amazed that it lasted as long as it did. But he was now on the verge coming. He could feel his balls drawing up, the tingling sensation building at the base of his cock. He could feel Jim's muscles coiling beneath him and knew he was also going to come any minute. The first warm spurt of Jim's release against his belly caused him to lose control, and he gave himself over to his orgasm. It was the first time his pleasure had been so intense, so close to bordering on pain, that he felt like his life force, his very soul was ripped from his body, along with his seed. His cum mixed with Jim's between their bodies, and nothing had ever seemed more right, like their very essences were combining, becoming indistinguishable from one another, like they were one. 

He was too sated and far too comfortable to move, and Jim didn't seem in any hurry to be rid of his weight. So he stayed, lounging on Jim like he was his own personal mattress. He rested his head against Jim's chest, ear pressed over his heart. He listened as his lover's breathing gradually slowed back to normal and his pulse quieted down from its thunderous gallop. Jim held onto him, his hands ghosting languorously over his back, his arms, his shoulders, wherever Jim could reach, in gentle random patterns. 

"I guess we shot the no sex in the loft rule all to hell," Blair said. 

He felt a gentle roll, then a shake, then great wracking shudders in the body beneath him as Jim burst into laughter. Seeing Jim let loose like that amused Blair, and he started laughing too. 

"No reason any more," Jim finally said, when his hilarity had died down enough for him to speak. "I don't have to worry about walking in on you with some woman." And then Jim stopped laughing altogether. "I won't walk in on you with a woman, right, Chief?" 

"What do _you_ think?" 

"I just...you know, want to make sure." 

"Be sure, Jim." 

"I love you, Chief." 

"And I love you, always." 

* * *

Epilogue: Six months later 

It was a smoky day. That's how Jim thought of this particular kind of late fall weather. The sky was gray and granular, not overcast exactly, certainly not the monolithic cloud cover of winter, just sort of...well, smoky. He leaned against the side of the truck, pushing his gloved hands a little deeper into the pockets of his coat, tucking his chin into his collar. It wasn't too cold yet, but the northerly wind could be merciless when it whipped down from the mountains. It would probably warm up later in the day, but for now, there was still a morning chill in the air. 

Of course, he could have waited for Blair in the truck, but somehow he didn't feel right sitting in heated comfort while his lover braved the elements. If he'd focused his eyes, used his Sentinel abilities, he could have seen Blair kneeling at the grave, but he didn't do that, out of respect. Blair had come to say good-bye to David, and that was a private thing. 

Later, they would have a house full of their friends, his brother, Blair's mother coming to celebrate Thanksgiving with them. They had spent weeks preparing for it. Blair had planned and replanned the menu, nervous, wanting it to be perfect. They had shopped and shopped and shopped some more. Jim had scoured the loft within an inch of its life, also nervous, needing everything orderly and spotless. He'd tried to tell himself that it was just a holiday, like all the others he'd celebrated over the years, but then again, it really wasn't. It was their first major holiday as a couple. It was the first time Blair had celebrated Thanksgiving since David died. It was only a few weeks since they had officially come out to their friends at work. Of course, he'd overheard their colleagues speculating about it for months. But still, it was different now that they'd said it. It meant something, something important, that the gang from Major Crimes was coming to their home to share Thanksgiving with them. 

A lot had happened in the six months they'd been together. Some of that time they'd spent in and out of courtrooms. Dr. Thompson had been indicted and then convicted on numerous counts of insurance fraud and false imprisonment, as well as two counts of conspiracy to commit murder for his actions toward Blair and Dr. Hannigan. Once the whole mess at Larchmore was blown open, some very interesting information came out about his previous association with Ralph Wilson, the orderly who'd terrorized so many patients under his care. Ralph had been arrested five years before for a string of rapes in Oregon. Based on the expert testimony of Dr. Thompson, who was then the director of a facility for the criminally insane in Portland, Wilson had been found not guilty by reason of mental disease or defect. He had been remanded to the hospital where Thompson was on staff, and only a year later, Dr. Thompson had pronounced him well enough to be released. 

This news spurred current and former patients whom Wilson had victimized to come forward. The sheer numbers were staggering. Wilson was indicted on 43 separate counts of aggravated sexual assault and was convicted on all of them. He was also convicted of conspiracy to commit murder against Blair. The judge ordered his sentences to be served consecutively, rather than concurrently, so there was no way he would ever be eligible for parole, no chance that he would ever again see the light of day. Because of that, Blair had been spared the need to press charges for the attempted rape. Jim had felt inordinately grateful that his lover only needed to testify about Ralph holding the gun on him, that he hadn't been forced to recount what happened after that, that those details could remain private. 

The charges for resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer were dropped when Wilson stopped making noises about suing for police brutality. 

A couple of the patients who came forward were able to corroborate Jennifer's suspicions that Ralph had raped and brutalized Dougie, the boy who'd slipped into a catatonic state. Apparently, the orderly enjoyed bragging about his past victims to his current victims. He'd told them in detail how he'd lured Dougie into the isolation room, telling him it was a special game just the two of them would play. He'd beaten and then restrained the boy, just as he had with Blair, and then anally raped him. Afterwards, he'd told Dougie that it had been all his fault and that he would get in terrible trouble if anyone ever found out. He was able to coerce the boy into doing anything he wanted by threatening to report him to Dr. Thompson. Ralph had victimized Dougie nearly every day for almost a month, before it finally became too much for the boy and he slipped into the numb safety of his inner world, the only way he could protect himself. 

Because Dougie was unable to testify and there was no physical evidence, the state was unable to prosecute the orderly for his crimes against the boy. However, his parents brought a multi-million dollar lawsuit against Dr. Thompson and the hospital alleging gross negligence for allowing someone with a record of rape and criminal insanity to work with patients at Larchmore. Numerous other lawsuits had also been filed, by other rape victims, as well as those who had been falsely committed. The hospital was trying every stall tactic their lawyers could dream up, but they were bracing for potential losses in the hundreds of millions of dollars. 

Dougie's condition remained unchanged, and his doctors were not optimistic. It appeared that he'd retreated from this world for good, that he was gone forever. 

Jennifer had returned home to Stacey. They had immediately begun looking for another apartment, a bigger place, with a second bedroom for Ritchie. Neither girl had ever said so, but Jim had received the impression that they also wanted to leave behind the bad memories. As long as they stayed in that same apartment, they would always picture where they had been, what they had been doing the night the men came to take Jennifer away. Whenever Jim and Blair visited them, Jennifer went out of her way to assure them that she was doing well, that she was putting it all behind her. But Stacey would later confide in them that Jennifer had problems sleeping, that she was on edge much of the time, that she would wake up in the middle of the night sobbing, terrified that they could come and take her away again. 

Still, Jennifer and Stacey were overjoyed to be reunited, and that happiness shone through whenever they were together. Both girls had gone back to school in the fall, and they would graduate in May. Jim and Blair, who'd become surrogate older brothers, had promised them a graduation party at the loft. Stacey was already in the process of applying to law school. Jennifer was planning to get her master's degree in social work. 

The thing that amazed Jim the most was how determined they seemed to turn their suffering into something that would help other people. Jennifer, who had always felt burdened by her money, had endowed a foundation that would act as an advocacy group for gay teens and young adults. They would provide free counseling, develop anti-violence initiatives, mediate between gay kids and their families, offer legal counsel. Jennifer was determined that what happened to her should never happen to anyone else. Stacey wanted same sex partners to have somewhere to turn, someone who would help in a time of crisis. She never wanted anyone to feel as powerless or desperate as she had. The girls planned to run the foundation themselves as soon as they completed their education. Jim and Blair had already volunteered for the mentor program they envisioned. 

Dr. Thompson had made a deal with the authorities and turned state's evidence against Herbert Ross, Jennifer's uncle, testifying that the man had bribed him to order her commitment and keep her institutionalized indefinitely. Ross was also convicted of fraud and embezzlement when the auditors found discrepancies in the estate books and missing funds from Jennifer's trust. 

Ritchie's relationship with his family unfortunately had not improved. If anything, it had worsened. His father still refused to accept that he was gay and had been completely unapologetic for having him committed to Larchmore, even after he'd heard about all the abuses that had taken place. That had made Ritchie finally lose his cool and explode at his father, something he'd never done before. Ritchie had turned seventeen while at Larchmore, legally old enough to live on his own and make his own decisions according to the state of Washington. He'd refused to return to the family home, severed all ties, and stopped all communication. His father had made no effort to contact him since then. 

But living with Jennifer and Stacey, two people who loved him as a brother and appreciated him for just exactly who he was, had given him the support and security he needed to flourish. He'd received his GED over the summer and was accepted for the spring semester at Rainier. It surprised no one that he planned to major in drama. Being at Larchmore had given him perspective on his life and especially his relationships. When Jose, the dog, came sniffing around, he sent him packing, finally, for good. He still hadn't found a hero of his own, but he was determined to keep looking, to hold out until he found one. 

Jim and Blair had settled into their life together without too much upheaval. After all, they'd acted married long before they'd become lovers. Blair had been terribly worried about what would happen down at the station when people began to notice the change between them, desperately afraid that Jim would get hurt. Of course, Jim had just the opposite fear, sick with dread that something would happen to Blair. Fortunately, he had the advantage of Sentinel hearing, and he used it without even a pang of conscience. The buzzing voices did pick up again, noting the shift in their connection, the intensification of the bond that had always been between them. Their friends seemed pleased for them. A few people sounded disgusted. But hardly anybody was surprised. It made Jim smile a little. It really was as if he and Blair were the last to know. 

Their lovemaking had only grown more tender and more explosive since that first sweet night together. The only hitch had come when Blair started insisting that Jim take him. Even though Blair was the one who had nearly been raped, Jim was the one who needed time to recover from what he'd witnessed. Finally, after many long discussions and a strong lobbying effort from Blair, Jim made love him to him, taking his virginity, whispering promises filled with words like "everything" and "always," words he needed to say, words Blair needed to hear. 

The wind whistled a little harder in the trees. Jim heard the dull crunch of fallen, dried leaves underfoot and saw Blair coming back down the path toward him. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, when Blair came to stand beside him. 

"I think so." 

"You said good-bye?" 

His lover nodded. "And that I was sorry. Even if I couldn't have changed it, I still feel so sorry that this was how it ended." 

"Of course you do, Chief." 

"Thanks for coming with me." 

"My pleasure, buddy. You ready to go home now?" 

"Yeah, man." 

Jim opened the door for him, and then headed around to the driver's side. He got in, they both buckled up, and he pulled the truck out, heading home to the loft. 

Blair was quiet at first, just staring out the windows at the passing scenery. Then he turned to Jim and said, "I hope Terri gets off in time to come." 

"Yeah, me too, Chief. She seemed to think she'd be able to." 

When Blair had gotten his balance back after his stay in Larchmore, he'd decided to renew his acquaintance with Terri Haskins, the nurse who had befriended him while he'd worked at Pine Crest. At first Jim had been a little concerned, worried that it might stir up more painful memories than Blair was ready to handle. But instead, talking to Terri about the old days seemed to have helped Blair finally come to terms with it all. More than anyone else, it was Terri who had helped Blair understand that he really had done everything he could back then, that David's suicide was not his fault. For that, Terri Haskins would have Jim's undying gratitude. He was really happy she'd agreed to spend Thanksgiving with them, especially since it meant so much to Blair. 

"I hope Mom remembered to put the turkey in," Blair said. 

"I'm sure she did." 

"This is my _mom_ we're talking about here, Jim." 

Jim grinned. "Okay, so there's at least a fifty-fifty chance." 

"Do you think she was really surprised when we told her or was she just humoring us?" 

"Just humoring us." 

"Yeah, that's what I thought. So basically nobody's been surprised." 

"Nope. Not even Steven. I really thought it would shock him," Jim said. 

"He said he knew that first day when he saw us at the race track together." 

"But we weren't even involved then." 

"We weren't lovers then. But we've always been involved." 

"Yeah, Chief. I guess you're right about that." 

Jim pulled up to the loft and parked the truck. He and Blair both got out and headed for the entrance. 

Jim wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, Chief, you sure you're okay?" 

"Yeah, man. Sorry to get so distracted. I was just thinking about something Ritchie said while we were at Larchmore." 

"What?" 

"When I told him who I really was, that I was trying to get him out, he wasn't glad. In fact, he got really upset. He said there was no one waiting for him on the outside, no one who would welcome him with open arms. He said he didn't even know why he should go home." 

"But he's doing okay now, Chief. He likes living with Jennifer and Stacey. He's excited about school. When they get here later, ask him about it. You'll see." 

"No, you're right. I know he's doing great. What I was thinking was how nice it is never to have to worry about that, to always have the best reason in the world for coming home. Thank you for giving that to me, Jim." 

It took him a moment to be able to react, and then he practically hugged the stuffings out of his lover. He kissed Blair soundly and promised, "Always, Chief. Always." 

* * *

End Why Go Home.


End file.
